


Stranger Things Have Happened

by Amand_r, Raine_Wynd



Category: Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Abuses of trope characterizations, Cigarette Smoking, Cussing, Gen, I don't remember what we were thinking, Immortals, Round Robin, Self-Indulgent, Songfic, Strong Female Characters, Threats of Violence, Voodoo, Watchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-01
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amand_r/pseuds/Amand_r, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At party for Joe, Mac gets kidnapped, and it's up to his friends to save him. But what's supposed to be a simple rescue attempt turns into something more when the gang discovers just how Richie managed to show up for the party....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer and Notes:** We don't own Duncan MacLeod, Methos, Joe Dawson, Amanda, Richie Ryan, Nick Wolfe, or the concept of Immortality; they belong to TPTB at Panzer/Davis and their associated companies. [much wailing and gnashing of teeth] We do, however, claim ownership of the OC's in this tale as follows:  
>  Raine Wynd: Kelly Siobhan Pyron  
> [author's name removed by request]: Sage Parrish and Calypso "Caly" Wilde  
> Amand-r: Scheherazade "Sher" Mackenzie and Roger Patterson  
> and Ross Caindale, Marie Renee, and Luc San-Pierre are ours, as well as any other characters you don't recognize.  
> This was started on December 19, 1998, as a way for us to involve each other's characters in a story and see where it went from there. Written as a round robin in the following order: Raine, Amand-r, then [author's name removed by request]; see if you can figure out who wrote which part.  
> Numerous kudos to our beta readers: Cherna, Daniel Archer, and Highlandlass, without whom this would be total chaos and a whole lot sillier.  
> Warning: This story contains strong language (the kind that sailors are said to use) and violence. It also includes a scene where a character has sex with a zombie. If you find this morally reprehensible, then stop here.

_Seacouver_    
_Joe's Bar_    
_December_

 _Big ring around the moon;_    
_Gonna rain hard soon._    
— Heather Nova, "Blood Of Me" 

"I'm bored out of my mind, Joey. Where the hell is everyone?" Sage Parrish griped as she took a pull of her beer.

Joe sighed and shook his head. "Sage, the place is packed," he said, indicating the crowd of people who had shown up at the bar that night. Who knew that anyone would have that much interest in celebrating the silly voice-over commercial he did for Brita? Certainly not him.

Sage rolled her eyes and curled her lip. "When are the people I want to see going to get here?" she corrected herself.

"I don't know when Methos is going to show up," Joe replied with a smirk.

"Bite me," she snapped and slumped back in her chair, sulking at his answer.

Joe grinned and studied her. Ever since Sage had opened her own little folk bar across town, he had seen less and less of the Immortal. He kind of missed her. Lord knew, with all the Immortals running around Seacouver lately, it was a good thing Sage didn't come by more often. The last thing he needed was some sort of romping adventure. Joe had just recovered from a huge Watcher "convention" in Paris, and he was not looking for any excitement.

 _What are you saying?_ he asked as she watched Sage lounge indolently in her chair, eyes flitting to the door every six seconds or so.  _Saying something like that when you know who all is going to be walking through that door in less than an hour is like jumping off the Empire State building and saying 'I don't want to fall'._

In any case, Joe enjoyed the relative peace that a crowded bar had to offer, examining the only other member of his table, for the moment at least. Sage was still the little young thing she had been five hundred years ago, in both body and spirit. But definitely in body. Her long hair was jet black this month, which was an improvement over last month's pink, in his opinion. He was getting used to the monthly hair color change, even if he couldn't understand it. She was wearing one of the latest summer fashions, a little baby doll dress of thin blue material that hitched up her thighs in the most tantalizing manner.  _These little girls and the clothes they wear. Only Sage,_  he figured,  _would be the wise kind of waif that would understand just what those kinds of clothes did to men._

 _And you said you never liked the schoolgirl look,_  his inner voice nagged. 

"Mac's coming, right?" Sage asked, in a failed attempt to appear casual. Her eyes scanned the room for the millionth time, coming up empty of what she was looking for. Joe knew her too well to believe she really wanted to see Mac. No, Sage was dying to find out if and when Methos would arrive.

Sage and Methos had once danced around each other like fireflies with out of whack homing beacons. Their wires had crossed one too many times. It had almost been painful to watch, and Joe had wanted to throw them into a room and demand that they screw right then and there. Much to his glee, he hadn't had to. How would he have explained that to Mac?

Sage and Methos were like demented oddities. They were so very different, but the same in perverse ways. They both detested Duncan MacLeod's overloaded sense of honor. At least, that is what they tried to say aloud. And when they had 'borrowed' Mac's Visa and used it to pay off Methos's bar tab, Joe had seriously considered taking a long vacation. In Bora Bora. At Methos's suggestion.

The bliss had been short. When Methos and Sage had returned from their trip East, the honeymoon had definitely been over. In the manner of all good love affairs gone rotten, there had been a few terrifyingly violent fights, all of them at  **Joe's**  bar, and the Watcher had considered that trip to Bora Bora again. He'd even called the travel agent.

Then it was over a quickly as it had began. Sage and Methos had come to some sort of civil agreement that they could not be lovers, but they could get piss drunk and serenade Joe after hours with old and badly done Supremes hits. Joe wanted to know just who had made that executive decision.

Since their break up, Sage and Methos had fallen into a pattern of banter that ran the gamut from silly, to downright nasty, depending on how much liquor they had in their systems. After Joe had been assured that the two of them wouldn't be ripping each other's faces off in his establishment, Joe had gotten the ticket refunded. He still kept the business card of the travel agent right in his wallet where he could get at it.  _Then again,_  he considered, thinking of Mac and the rest of the Immortal "Clan MacLeod" in town,  _maybe I should put it on my cell phone's speed dial..._

"Earth to Joey!" Sage called out, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Wake up, you old fart. It's too early to pass out."

Joe snorted. "Look who's calling who old," he remarked sarcastically and she flipped him the bird. Joe felt the rare urge to continue his ribbing. "Naw seriously," he told her, raising his glass and taking a deep swallow of whiskey. "I think it is only fair that all the age jokes fly out the door the minute any of you walk in."

Though her features were frozen forever at twenty-one, Sage was older than Mac. Joe had always thought that she should try to behave more like her actual age, instead of the age she appeared. Like tonight, for example. He eyed the dress again. Sage knew that it had slipped out from under the backside to hang over the back of the chair. Was she wearing blue panties? Joe shook his head. The dress was cute. The white bobby socks with lace trimming and patent leather Mary Janes were a bit too much.

Then again, her manner of dress and behavior had probably kept her alive. She seemed young and innocent, and it was pure deception; Sage could be lethal when she chose to be. Five hundred years of living wasn't anything to be dismissed lightly.

"Company coming," Sage told him around the mouth of her beer bottle. She hadn't reacted to the sense of the other Immortal in the vicinity, a peculiar trait of hers. Joe stopped tapping his foot to the jukebox, which was playing Kenny Wayne Shepard's "D?j? Voodoo", and sat up straighter as he wondered who was arriving.

The door to the bar burst open and slammed against the wall. Half the people in the bar jumped in shock and stared at the door. The two newcomers grinned.

"Dawson, where the fuck are you?" Caly Wilde called, from her piggyback perch on Methos's back.

"Over here, little girl," Joe said loudly, to be heard above the music. He jerked a gentle finger at the barmaid, who hastened the arrival of two more chairs — currently a rare commodity — and several more glasses and bottles of beer to his table.

Caly on the other hand, grabbed two fistfuls of Methos's short hair and turned his head in Joe's direction.

"That away! Heigh ho, big Broooooo!" Joe snickered and Sage made a noise of derision beside him. Methos would never live this down. Especially when the beer really started to flow.

"Damn it Pixie, I'm not a bloody horse," Methos groused as he headed towards Joe and Sage. He hitched the mortal woman up to gain a better grip, and she almost fell backwards. "Hey!" Methos called back. "It's called 'holding on'. Learn it, live it, love it."

Caly laughed, and mimed a grumpy face over his head. "Be quiet and giddy-fucking-up, Eeyore."

"His latest?" Sage asked Joe nonchalantly, though she held her beer in a deathlike grip.

 _Please God,_  Joe prayed.  _No drunken fights tonight. I'll take another off key chorus of 'Love Child', just no more flying kegs._

"Nah, that's just Caly Wilde," Joe told her. He watched Methos's progress, grinning when Caly's foot kicked the drink right out of a customer's hand. Methos closed his eyes and shook his head. Caly just laughed and leaned down to apologize to the man. Joe was no fool. The man never looked beyond Caly's cleavage to her face. That was a damn shame, because the girl had the cutest face Joe had seen in a long time. Sage may have been pretty, beautiful even, and Amanda was gorgeous, but only Caly was adorable.

"She's mortal," Sage noted.

Joe nodded. Yes, Caly was mortal, though she could've used Immortality more than a few times in her life.  _Perhaps if one could buy stock in these things,_  Joe mused.  _Caly should corner the market._

The full-figured pixie was blessed — or cursed — with perpetual clumsiness. The little vixen fell down stairs, up stairs, across flat surfaces. If course, the fact that her pants always covered her feet didn't help. She slipped. She slammed into things. Things slammed into her. Like, oh, say, the ground. She broke limbs doing the Macarena. Hell, the girl made a bull in a china shop look like Baryshnikov. Caly might have only been safe from herself when she was sitting still, breathing. The jury in Joe's head was still out on that one.

Despite that, she was the best hacker Joe had ever known. She talked like a sailor, smoked like a chimney, and, if Joe was in the mood to continue his cliché of similes, drank like a fish. But she had been caught hacking into NSA when she was fifteen, and had spent years working it off in the government.

When Caly had finally been released from her "penance" tour of duty, she had found herself in the precarious predicament of having nothing to do. So she had most recently been redesigning the Watcher database security systems. Joe thought she was brilliant, though some of his colleagues thought she was a little odd.  _Nah,_  Joe thought wryly as Caly kicked Methos in the backside for the hell of it.  _Not her._  Could it be her totally wonked wardrobe? Perhaps her brash way with words? Maybe the other Watchers were wary because of her tendency to refer to them as Stalkers.

Joe smiled.  _No rest for the wicked,_  he thought.

The two arrived at the table, and Methos shifted to let Caly slide down his back to the floor. At least, that had seemed to be the plan. Methos had let go of her legs a little too quickly, and Caly ended up tripping over her foot and landing on her ass.

"Shit," she muttered, and held a hand out to Methos, who grabbed it and pulled her to her feet.

Joe took one last moment to look her over. Caly's overalls were about fifteen thousand sizes too big, and made of deep green corduroy. They covered the huge clogs she wore, but Joe knew they were also green. In contrast to the size of her pants, Caly's shirt barely cleared her breasts, and left her midriff bare.  _Cute,_ Joe thought.  _What is the fashion now days, 'everything must be big enough for two of you, or small enough for half of you? Can't clothing ever just fit?_

Caly lit a cigarette as she collapsed into a chair, narrowly missing the edge. Sage leaned back away from the table, and turned her beer bottle in her hand slowly.

"Dawson, Bro carried me for like, ten fucking blocks," Caly told the bartender with a grin.

"It was either that or pick her up every twenty feet," Methos complained as he sat down, sliding into an artless sprawl. "Hello Sage," he greeted belatedly. The corners of his mouth dented in, and he snagged one of the few unopened beers from the table, twisting off the top, and tossing it at Sage's neckline.

"Methos," Sage answered, before intercepting the cap with her hand, batting it away. They all watched it hit another patron in the head. The drunken fool didn't even notice. Joe rolled his eyes and made the international sign for "cut that shit out": he gritted his teeth and cut his throat with his hand. Sage snickered.

Caly's hunter-green eyes narrowed. "You're Sage?" she chirped.

"I am," Sage drawled.

The two women locked eyes for a moment, in a silent communication that neither man understood, but was still worried by. Joe reached in his pocket and fingered his cell phone. He really should have put that travel agent's number on the speed dial. Methos put on a brave face, but the right eyebrow twitched, one of his telltale signs of intense worry. After a moment Caly exhaled from her cigarette and Sage nodded. They smiled at each other.

"I'm so disappointed your hair is just black. I've been picturing you with pink hair," Caly remarked as she slid further over to a chair next to the Immortal woman.

"Maybe next month," Sage mused. "Or, I might be tacky and get it dyed your color. I had chestnut colored hair a few years back, and I really liked it."

Methos gave Joe a look that said, 'See? Nothing to worry about'. The Watcher exhaled. The chances had been one in a million that Caly and Sage wouldn't like each other. Stranger things had happened, especially here.

Joe noticed that the women in Methos's life, be they lovers or adopted little sisters, tended to watch out for him viciously. What inspired that trait?

Methos froze suddenly, his eyes flying to the door. Sage didn't look up from her inspection of Caly's hair. The door slammed open again and Joe pounded his cane into the floor. "Damn it! Where were you people raised, a barn?" he snapped.

Sage's gaze focused on the door and she chuckled when she saw who was there. "Close, Joey, close. Sher!" Sage yelled loudly. "Over here, babe!"

 _Damn,_  Joe swore.  _Look what the cat dragged in._  Sage and Caly were enough. Together, the three of them made a perfect set of Sirens. Methos would have thought it funny. 

Apparently he did, because Methos shut his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest and shook with laughter. Joe raised an eyebrow even though he knew the Immortal couldn't see him. So instead, he focused his gaze on the newcomer.

Sheherezade MacKenzie's green eyes gleamed with amusement when she saw the people seated at the table. Joe knew that when she spoke, her Texas accent would only flavor her Black Velvet voice. She was a new Immortal, and an ex-Watcher who Joe had mentored. She was also Methos's most recent student, and most recent ex.

Yet another ex for Methos.  _He does rack them up,_  Joe decided.  _And Immortals too. I wonder if this is a new habit? I don't think I'd want my exes hanging around for all eternity._  He watched Sher move towards them like fluid.

Joe was still not used to the reddish-blonde color of her hair, as it was rather new. The reason for the color change was directly related to the scar that marred her collarbone. His eyes drifted down, and he winced at the sight of it, angry and thick, displayed prominently as if it was framed by the emerald V-neck sweater Sher had chosen for the evening.

Standing next to Sher, and almost fading into the background, was Roger Patterson, an old Watcher friend of Sher's from her days at the Academy. Roger was the perfect image of the career scholar: scruffy, pale, a little underweight and constantly dazed, as if he was confused about his non-librarian location. He seemed nervous, which was to be expected. With the exception of Sher, Roger wasn't used to associating with Immortals. The man was used to observing and recording, not interacting.

Joe suppressed the urge to yell 'Welcome to the loony bin!'

Sher took Roger's hand and led him to the table. "Hey Sage," Sher grinned, and leaned down to kiss the other woman's cheek. When she would have pulled her head up, Sage turned and whispered in her ear. Sher's eyes settled on Methos and she snickered. "Why Aaham," she drawled, leaving the sentence hanging in mid air like suspended honey dripping from a cold larder. Methos looked elsewhere.

Well, that was interesting. Sage and Sher, in cahoots? Since Sher had opened the ranch outside of town, her activities had been rather minimal. She rarely left her estate, and her Watcher said she lived the boring life of a hermit. Just how hermit was she really? Was she losing her Watcher at night? Sage had never gone out to the ranch, so Sher must have been coming into town more than her Watcher thought.

 _Oh God. Sher and Sage, drunk. Saints preserve us,_  Joe thought, invoking the spirit of his dead grandmother for a good old fashioned curse to the Virgin Mary for good measure. 

"Sher, you've got to meet Caly Wilde," Sage introduced the women.

"The infamous Pixie," Sher laughed and took a seat. The waitress arrived and set two pitchers of beer and a bottle of whiskey on the table. Sher made a face. "Whiskey?" Sage laughed and ordered a bottle of Chivas for the 'Southern snob'.

 _Well, if they know each other so well that Sage can order for Sher, we may all be in trouble._  Joe stole a glance at Methos, who had started his second beer of the evening.  _Heavy Drinkers 'R' Us._

"So hey," Sher began, passing a glass of whiskey to Roger. "So I have this idiot come out to the barn the other day and demand a white stallion so his wife can play Lady Godiva for him for his birthday." Sher shot the first scotch home, and refilled her glass with purple nail polish painted fingers. "She's never been on a horse, and he wants her on one bareback, naked... "

Joe settled back into his chair to listen to the story. Caly passed Sher a cigarette, and the teller of tales began doing what she did best.

A half hour passed, then an hour. Sher's story had ended hilariously. Sage had graced them with a short version of 'Tam Lin', and Caly had recanted her latest adventure of her trip to the zoo, including almost falling into the panther enclosure, and of her rescue by a young man who had later spent the night. Sher and Sage laughed, and Joe decided that he liked the way they all seemed to mesh. Methos gave him an amused look, and the three men at the table let their female counterparts entrance them.

The two pitchers of beer were decimated and replaced with a frightful punch that was generously laced with moonshine. Sage was fairly torqued. Methos was, well, who knew, Joe mused. Caly smoked more than she drank, and Roger tended to need to be reminded there was actually a drink in front of him, since he was so enthralled by the other members of the table. Sher was nursing her fifth scotch after shooting third and fourth home, an action that had made Methos roll his eyes, and Sage slam her fists on the table, shouting 'snarf!', whatever that meant.

Joe checked his watch. Twelve-thirty. Plenty of time to drink and talk. He had originally planned to play this evening, but it was so crowded, and the company was so rare... .

Yet again, much to Joe's aggravation, the door to the bar flew open with a bang. This time the perpetrator of the door abuse was a mortal. A woman with reddish-black hair and a delicate, heart-shaped, knife-scarred face strode in, swearing profusely in a multitude of languages. Joe recognized French and the Gaelic pronunciation of Duncan's name, though he didn't recognize the other languages as readily, and winced. This was not what he needed at his party.

 _Tahiti, here I come,_  he griped inwardly. 

The newcomer paused briefly at the entrance, her green eyes scanning the room even as she continued to swear and call further attention to herself. Joe caught Methos's smirk as the ancient Immortal relaxed and turned back to his beer. He knew that Methos recognized the newcomer, and understood every curse that the lithe woman was spewing in what sounded like six different languages.

Sage shook her head and Sher tsked. "That, ladies," the Southern woman told them. "Is the sound of a woman pissed at MacLeod." Caly snickered. Sher turned to Joe, her eyes gleaming with wicked merriment. "Mentor mine, how close am I?"

"Kelly Pyron," Joe told the women, who had never met Mac's current girlfriend. "You are right," he admitted. "Mac does seem to be her current source of agitation these days."

"She does not look happy," Sher commented, sliding a glance towards Methos.

"True," Sage agreed. "I wonder what Mac did." She also cut her eyes to Methos, who had to notice, but pretended not to.

 _That,_ / Joe thought, _is the reason I would never want my exes living in the vicinity._  Sher gave Methos that look. He hated that look. He had gotten it a few times, enough to know that it was not very comfortable to be on the other end of it. 

Kelly caught sight of the not-so-little group and made her way forward. Her gaze quickly assessed the group, obviously trying to find Joe.

"Congrats, Joe," she told him warmly, her faint Irish lilt giving a musical edge to her voice. "I loved the whole fucking thing when I saw the video on TV." She hugged him, leaning down so that he didn't have to stand.

"Thanks," Joe said, a little dizzy with all the affection in the room.  _Too many ladies, and none of them mine._  Sage rolled her eyes to show him that she knew exactly what he was thinking, or thought that she did, and stuck her finger down her throat.

"Adam," Kelly nodded at the Immortal.

Methos shrugged in greeting. "Where's MacLeod?" Methos drawled, raising a brow. Kelly's face settled into a glare and her jaw tightened.

"I don't fucking give a damn," she growled. "Give me some of that whiskey, Joe." She didn't wait for a response, but grabbed the bottle off the table and drank.

Kelly Siobhan Pyron was indeed Mac's current love interest. And a rather awkward one at that. Ever since she had given up her mercenary way of life, Kelly had been trying to go civilian as much as she was able. Saying that it hadn't been easy for her, was like saying that Mac was a little honorable.

Mac and Kelly had crashed together, two warriors scrambling for understanding and shelter. Their commiseration of violence and pain was the glue that bound them. Joe wasn't sure if it was a very solid foundation for the type of relationship that Mac seemed to want from Kelly. And Kelly, well, the woman was stranded on a foreign shore out of a war zone. She tried, but a survivalist and a Boy Scout wasn't the best of combos.

The fights were amazing.  _The earth shakes. Angels weep,_  Methos had said to him one time, after Kelly and Mac had stormed out of the bar, both heading in different directions. If Methos and Sage had been violent physically, Mac and Kelly ripped into each other like bitter enemies, rapier words and dagger-like verbal stings that made Joe wince. And perhaps it was odd that Mac should say such things, but Kelly seemed to be driving him to a place where not even Amanda had taken him in the past.

 _Like the nearest asylum,_  Joe thought bitterly. He liked Kelly, just not with Mac. At least, not during times like this. 

A sudden thought struck Joe.  _Hey,_  he mused, as Kelly waved the waitress over and ordered a bottle of Jamison's.  _No one has ever drawn swords here, that **has**  to be a good sign. Forget making this holy ground. They can all fight however they like, but no swords._ Joe took a good look at the three Immortals at the table. Methos didn't carry a sword, but Sage did. Two of them, in fact. Where were they hidden?

Sher was a toss up. He betted she didn't have one either. This was Joe's most recent private game. Find the sword. It was a Watcher tradition, in fact, not unlike those oversized "Where's Waldo?" children's books.

Joe sighed and felt the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes. Methos's exes. Mac and Kelly fighting. That would have been enough for any man, but there was more. There was a noticeable attraction between Methos and Kelly, and God help them all if they decided to flaunt it in Mac's face when he arrived.

 _I will never do another voice-over again, I don't care how much money they offer me,_ he mourned.  _The after parties are like hell._  Joe contemplated his empty glass just as Sher reached over to fill it for him. He watched the gleam of amusement in her eyes before smiling. 

"Mentor mine," she whispered, close to his ear. "Just ride on."

Joe chuckled.  _Riding metaphors from a horsewoman._  It didn't erase the problem bundled up in a little Irish woman sitting at their table, guzzling whiskey like it was water. It didn't change the fact that Mac would be bursting though the door sooner or later, in search of his significant other. And it certainly didn't erase the sexual tension dripping off Methos when he looked at Kelly.

Kelly never thought rationally when she was pissed, like she was now, and Methos was too damn contrary for Joe's peace of mind. He looked desperately at the other women for help, but knew right away that he was on his own. Sage was studying her beer bottle with unusual intensity. Sher was picking at her nails. Caly was grinning like a fool and puffing on a cigarette.  _Oh, wonderful._

Kelly stared at the others at the table. "So who the fuck are you?" she asked blandly with a wave of her hand.

Joe realized that about five minutes had gone by, and no one had said a word. He opened his mouth, hoping something would come out that would take the tension from the air, but he didn't get a chance to utter a sound. Sher stepped into the breach instead.

Sher grinned, her mouth wide and flashing white teeth. "Oh, Scheherazade Mackenzie." Sher took a drag from her cigarette. "I'm girl number two in the odd names bunch. See we have a Sage and a Calypso, and a Sher," she explained, waving her hand vaguely in the direction of the other women. "I'm beginning to wonder what Aaham has for women with odd names."

Methos glared daggers and she mimed a kiss at him.

It appeared to Joe that Sher meant to say more, but right then, she and Methos got  **that**  look, and Joe assumed it was Mac, finally arriving. At least, that's what Joe hoped. Kelly still looked angry enough to spit vipers; Sher's apparent casualness wasn't exactly rubbing off on the mercenary.

The door burst open,  **again**.

The Immortal women had erupted into hysterical laughter, which died out when they saw that it wasn't MacLeod on the other side, but Amanda.

Methos cursed under his breath and Caly choked on a lung full of smoke. "If this night gets any more fucking interesting, I'm going to have a coronary," she sputtered.

"Join the club," Joe whispered. He shook his head.  _What was it? The earth shakes? Angels weep? And men guard your purses._

"Hey, ho, hey ho," Sher chanted, and Sage snickered. "Lady Lightfingers, in da house, ya'll." Methos toasted the Texan from across the table.

Kelly, who was facing away from the door, turned curiously to see who had just arrived. Having never met Amanda, she had no idea why the others were reacting the way they were. She looked questioningly at Joe, who shrugged and pointed to Methos.

"You're about to meet Amanda," Methos informed Kelly quietly. He smiled faintly, as if pleased that Kelly had even gazed at him.

Sher passed Sage a note, and the other woman read it. Joe watched her turn a brilliant shade of pink, then nod to Sher. The two of them hooked pinky fingers, and sat back in their chairs.

 _What the hell?_  Joe was about to ask what that had been all about, but Kelly's eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened. "Amanda? As in the Immortal named Amanda?" Her voice was deadly quiet. 

The others in the group exchanged a look, then let Methos field it.

"Yeah," Methos said slowly, as if he might regret his words if he wasn't careful.  _And maybe he would,_  Joe thought.

Methos continued, "She's coming for a visit from Paris. She told me she didn't want to miss Joe's party."

"That's not all she wanted to do," Kelly growled. She slammed the bottle of whiskey down on the table, then stood up and stalked to the entrance, obviously intent on confronting Amanda.

"Oh dear," Roger said quietly. All eyes turned to him. Joe had actually forgotten he was there. Sher tilted her head and regarded him like a wise man. Joe didn't know what she felt for the Researcher, but whatever it was, it wasn't apparent in the man's sense of presence. He was so easy to forget.

The Researcher nodded sagely and shook his head. "This does not bode well," he mumbled.

Joe barked a laugh, and raised an eyebrow at Methos, who shrugged.

"Observe and record, Joe," he said mockingly.

Sage passed Methos a cocktail napkin, and a tube of lipstick. "Go ahead, little man, record."

Sher choked on her drink, and Caly slapped her in the back. Of course, she had a cigarette in her hand, so the ashes flew everywhere, and Sher's hair was a little singed.

Kelly had made it to the bar. Despite the crowd, everyone seemed to magically part for her, a Red Sea incarnate. Then again, Kelly oozed "don't fuck with me" even when she wasn't pissed.

The woman looked as if she was about to say something; however, right at that moment, Mac walked in, stalking right towards his lover. Kelly stiffened, and Joe could literally see the two of them tense as if preparing for battle. Amanda took advantage of Kelly's distraction at her lover's entrance to head for the relative safety of the group watching the scene over her shoulder as she tripped her way across the room.

They had started the argument in hushed whispers.  _Well, what a pleasant change,_  Joe thought. He felt kind of fuzzy headed.  _How many have I had?_  he wondered, staring at the glass in his hand.

Joe put on his best 'good old boy' face for Amanda. The woman sidled to their table, a flurry of Versace and Ysatis.

Unobtrusively, Roger pulled up another chair, unable to resist getting closer to the infamous Amanda. Joe knew he had questions he wanted to ask her in connection to some research he was performing for the Watchers. She sank into it gratefully, flashing a smile that left no doubt in anyone's mind about how she'd managed to survive for twelve hundred years. And more astonishingly, twelve hundred years without using a sword a great deal.

The unholy group still settled in the table let Amanda order a glass of white wine from the waitress before even commenting on the scene that had almost started to play before their eyes across the room.

"She's ready to crack open a fresh can o' whup ass, Amanda," Sher drawled, her head inclining towards Kelly across the room. "What'd you do?"

Amanda gave the Southern woman a helpless look. "I haven't a clue," she said with a shrug

"Oh, maybe she's confused," Caly grunted, putting out her cigarette and opening her backpack/purse. It had to be a purse, Joe figured, but it looked like a stuffed animal. A donkey. Caly caught his look of puzzlement and shook the bag. "It's Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. I call him 'Adam'." Sher choked on her drink yet again, and this time Caly didn't help her out. Instead she dug around in 'Adam the donkey's' innards. To Amanda, she added, "Maybe she thinks you're the  **other**  Immortal Amanda."

"Really, I have no idea," Amanda pleaded, eyes wide. The waitress brought her wine and she sipped it casually.

"If you believe that, Caly," Sher snorted, "I'll believe you can go a day without hurting yourself somehow."

Caly frowned, clearly trying to think of something to say, and lit another cigarette, passing one to Sage in reply to her silent request.

Whatever she was going to ask was interrupted, however, by the rising voices from the bar.

"Damn it, Kelly, din' ye ever listen to anything I say?" Mac demanded.

"You'd rather I sit at home and crochet like some woman out of the 1950's than defend myself, fine!" Kelly shouted, her Irish accent as thick as Mac's brogue. "But I'll be damned if I'm going to apologize for living!"

"I told ye to leave — that kind — of fighting tae me! Dinna ye learn anything from nearly dying when Mallory was after ye?" Mac insisted, clearly frustrated.

His pause in the middle of his argument meant that he had had to alter the sentence for the crowd that was growing increasingly silent. Joe was sure that "that kind" of fighting meant Immortals. It wouldn't do for the patrons of his fine establishment to get wind of any kind of "preternatural activity". They'd never believe it, but they sure as hell wouldn't come back. If the owner of a bar has psycho friends like this, what must he be like?

"What happened?" Roger whispered to Joe.

"Cliff's Notes version, please," Methos whispered. "I want to hear the rest of this." He turned bemused eyes back to the bickering couple. If Joe didn't know better, he'd have said Methos was enjoying the whole thing.  _And who's to say I know anything?_

"Amanda was running from an Immortal. She led him to the dojo," Joe explained, keeping his voice low. "Kelly was there instead, and fought him off long enough for Mac to arrive and take his head. Actually, Kelly was just about to do that when Mac arrived."

Despite the Watchers' quiet tones, Amanda heard the whispered conversation. "I didn't think Mac was involved with anyone," she said petulantly. "I'd have never mentioned the dojo if I did."

"No, you'd still have run to the dojo," Joe corrected. "You'd have just made sure Mac was there at the time you'd specified in your acceptance of the Challenge."

Amanda narrowed her gaze on Joe and sighed. "That was the old me," she declared. "I've changed."

"That'll be the day," Methos remarked.

Caly chose that moment to try to pour herself a bit of the punch out of the tall pitcher on the table, but, whether it was from her own clumsy curse, or the alcohol in her system, she missed her glass widely. The bright red punch cascaded down the table edge into Methos's lap. Methos yelped, and Caly's face turned a pleasant shade of pink before she burst out laughing, smoke curling out of her mouth. Sher pushed her chair away to avoid the flow, but Sage, who had been paying attention to the scene at the bar, was not so lucky. She stood, shrieking, surprised by cold punch and ice suddenly hitting her legs. The front of her baby blue dress was forever marred, and right now wet.

And, Joe noted, very see-through. Roger stared at her as Amanda choked back snickers at the scene.

Caught unprepared, Sage let loose a stream of curses as she stood and assessed the damage to her dress. Thoroughly soaked, she ducked into the restroom.

  

* * *

 

Methos swore a blue streak in some old language. Clearly contrite, Caly tossed bar rags at him as he stood and crossly wiped the mess from his jeans. As Roger and Joe had been on the opposite end of the table, they'd escaped the disaster zone.

 _Great, just great,_ Methos thought.  _Well, this is going to be a lovely evening._  Methos spared a glance at the departing Sage and grimaced. Sher tipped her chair up on two legs and smirked.  _This has to be hell,_  he thought.  _When had Sage and Sher managed to get together?_

Joe was still laughing, and Methos glared. "How the hell do you always manage to escape unscathed?" he asked the Watcher.

"Ancient Chinese secret," Joe volleyed back, leaning heavily on his cane as he slid away from the table. The barmaids came with more rags, and sopped the mess up, wiping the table down thoroughly with glass cleaner.

Amanda looked as though she wanted to comment on that, but whatever she meant to say to Joe was interrupted by the squabble at the bar.

"Would you rather have me fucking six feet under?" Kelly demanded of Mac. "Fine!" She pulled out a nearly-foot-long-knife no one had seemed to notice strapped to her hip, and stabbed it into the bar, just missing Mac's hand. Methos realized that she would've hit Mac's hand had he not had sharp reflexes. It was then that Methos decided that he wasn't going to interfere with the argument. Instead, he watched Joe wince at the damage to his bar, and thought of cheerily consoling the Watcher with the thought that it was better than having to clean up blood.

"No, Kelly, but you're not — " Mac tried to reason, but Kelly would have none of it.

"Do you think I was fucking born yesterday?" Kelly swore at him. "You're the goddamned fucking Immortal, and I fucking know that!!"

Joe winced and Methos groaned internally. She's said it aloud. Of course, no one would really care; they were all too busy watching Kelly's hand, the hand with the big knife, but still... it was just no good to say what Sher called 'the I word' in public.

Kelly was  **not**  finished. She flailed her arms wildly. "God damn it, you're a — " Her words lapsed into a confusing conglomeration of Gaelic and Russian epithets, all decreeing in graphic detail just how stupid Mac was.

Methos snickered silently at Kelly's word choices, and wondered just how much of it Mac comprehended. He could see, though, that Kelly was in rage mode, and he knew all too well that she was liable to do anything when she was that upset.

"Mac better calm her down," he observed calmly to no one in particular, "or that knife is going to end up in him. She came close that time."

"You want to try intervening?" Sher asked, discerning the deeper worry Methos was unsuccessfully hiding from her. "Or shall we just all enjoy the show?"

Methos retreated into silence, which he decided sourly surprised no one.

"I will," Amanda volunteered abruptly, rising to her feet. "It's my fault anyway."

Roger gaped at her in shock. "But I thought — " He was too late, however; Amanda had already moved towards Mac and Kelly.

"Must be that ex-cop she's been hanging around," Joe mused.

"Ex-cop?" Sher asked, amused. "Oh yeah, that'll do it. Every time I need a moral kick in the ass I find someone in law enforcement." She drained her glass. "Okay, I have ten bucks that says Kelly draws first blood. Do I have any takers?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "You don't think any of us are that sick, do you?"

"Taken," Sage said, as she returned to the table, still stained, but no longer dripping.. She and the Texan grinned and hooked their index fingers together over the table.

Methos had seen their little wagering earlier, and their current action had only conformed that they had been betting on  **something**.  _Please, don't let it be about me._

So, he slammed his glass on the table. "Joe's right... this is sick and I am appalled... fifteen says Amanda gets the first blow in." He smiled slyly, and slouched in his chair.

Joe looked at the couple, being unsuccessfully calmed by Amanda. Caly snickered.

"Twenty," he finally croaked. Methos nodded.  _Oooh, you just made twenty bucks, Methos._

All the occupants of the bar watched an exasperated Amanda rear back a little and slam Duncan soundly in the chest with her balled up fist.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked, her voice oozing fury. The verbal curses that flowed from Amanda's mouth made the men at the table wince and the three females that were watching snicker with amusement. Methos stole paranoid glances at both of his ex's. Joe took his wallet out of his jeans, and slid the twenty over to Methos.

"I don't know how you do it... " Joe started.

"Years of experience," he chirped over his glass.

"Years, my ass — " Joe began... then there was the sound of Kelly growling, and the scuffling of chairs. Kelly's knife was back in her hand, and that was grazing the edge of Mac's throat.

"Bonus," Sher muttered. Methos cut a glance at her. Her eyes were dead and hard. The blouse she wore revealed her own ugly ragged scar across the front of her shoulders down to her clavicles. Methos tried not to think of the Elders at that moment, but the similarity between Kelly's knife on Mac's throat, and Sher's injury made him slightly uneasy. Sher seemed unperturbed. Sage threw a ten at her, and she grinned, still watching the display. The bar had gone frightfully silent, so everyone could hear Kelly's words.

"I have tried to get around your fucked-up notions of protection. I have tried to convince you that I am fucking capable of taking care of myself." Mac's face was passive, but those who were familiar with him recognized the look of the Highlander trying to keep control. "I can't convince you any more. Nothing I ever say or do makes you realize that I can defend myself. Go find someone else to coddle, MacLeod," she whispered.

Methos wondered if this spelled the end of Kelly and Mac. Then he wondered why the thought of their splitting up made him giddy.  _Well_ , he thought, as he glanced at Sher. I _t is a well known fact that I am a cold, calculating sonofabitch._  Sage winked at him.  _Very well known indeed._

Caly chose that moment to lean across the table to Methos.

"Are they always like this?" she asked, a little too loud. Joe covered her mouth with his hand.

"Yes," Methos and Joe replied in unison. Sher snorted, and Sage tilted her head.

"Foreplay?" they both asked together. Methos gave them the finger.

Kelly slid the knife back in its sheath, a little trickle of blood slid down Mac's neck, although the cut had probably healed instantly. Methos snorted to himself. The Highlander was soft, letting any blade touch his neck, no matter who wielded it.

Kelly ducked her head and backed away. "I'm out of here," she announced.

Mac set his jaw. "Noh, ye canno-"

"Not now, MacLeod, not fucking now," Kelly cut him off. She made a hand motion, and Methos snagged her jacket from her empty chair at their table. It was heavy, and he prayed the gun in the inside pocket wouldn't fall out as he tossed it across the crowded room. It didn't. Kelly slung the jacket over her arm, the sound of the metal studs clanking against her knife sheath the only noise in the room... 

Mac was frozen, one hand gripping the bar rail so tightly his knuckles looked white even from Methos's distance.

Kelly nodded to the occupants of the round table, who were all eerily silent. "I'll catch you all later," she whispered.

They all watched her walk out, then Methos clinked the ice in his glass. "I give her an 8.9 in execution, but the dismount was a 7.4," he mumbled.

Duncan heard him, and whipped his head towards the table. "What is this to all of you? A game? Some sort of sick show?" he growled.

Methos bit back a comment. The Highlander was pissed, and here he was, trying to amuse his ex's, and "little sister". Caly looked like she might reply, but thought better of it. Sage poured herself more punch, being very careful not to spill it, and Roger looked like he'd just been caught spying in the girl's room.

Sher was drunk, and less inhibited.

"I just made money off of this," she told him, simply, as if he were a child, or couldn't understand English. "It's that predictable. Now, if I were you, and thank God I'm not," she broke off, and tried to remember what she was going to say, while Duncan stood frozen, and Methos wondered if the Scot was just going to take her head rather than wait for the second part of her sentence. "I would go and get her. When you have something good, Duncan, and you let it go, time only makes it harder to get back."

Methos sucked in his breath. Her words were true, and they hurt. Then again, they were designed to. He waited for a deeper explanation. Would Sher drag out the sordid details upon which this advice had been founded?

Apparently however, Sher's tact was on somewhat tonight, because she waved her hand to signal the end of the story.  _Selah from Scheherazade. Now only Sage has to chime in_.

Then she lit a cigarette, slouched, and examined the peeling purple polish on her fingers. Methos raised one eyebrow, and she looked up in time to catch it.

"Oh shut up, and don't flatter yourself. As if that was about you," she groused. Sage smirked, and hit the older Immortal's shoulder.

"Yeah, as if," she echoed.

Methos smiled.  _I don't even know which God to thank for small favors._

Duncan seemed to consider this, then without saying a word, bolted for the door, not stopping for his coat.

Joe raised his glass. "He's gonna get cold."

"Men," sighed all three of the women at the table.

It was truly uncanny, the way things in a bar could snap back to normal. One minute, all of the occupants in the room had been hooked on the lover's quarrel of the century. Then they had all been entranced by Scheherazade's slow drunken voice. Now, though, someone fed coins into the jukebox, and a slow, rambling Bonnie Raitt piece started, just as waitresses started making their rounds again. Rusted over conversations ground back up into murmured being, and gamblers turned back to the bar's few computer operated touch screens. Some brave souls asked for darts, preparing to play a few rounds before last call.

Methos let the waitress refill his beer.  _Well_ , he figured, reviewing the past few minutes, and after glancing at the occupants of the table, the past few years.  _Stranger things have happened._

* * *

Amanda shrugged and sauntered back to them, ignoring the few biker types, probably impressed with her right hook, casting forlorn looks at her...  _assets_ , Methos decided was the most polite term. She took Kelly's vacated seat and rested her elbows on the table.

"So, what have I missed? Anything exciting?" Roger ordered her another glass of wine, and Amanda graced him with a smile.

"Compared to that little pay-per-view knock off, the night has been slow," Sage grumbled.

  

* * *

 

Kelly stormed out of the bar, not caring where she was headed, as long as it was away from Mac. Damn it, his need to protect his women  **had**  been kind of sweet, the first time it had happened. Now it was just infuriating. She heard him call her name, try to follow her, but she quickly lost him. The last thing she wanted to do was to talk to him.

As she walked, she took deep breaths of the cold winter air, trying to calm herself. She knew she had a quick temper and that lately, all she and Mac seemed to do was fight. Methos being around all the time wasn't making things easy for Mac and her: when Mac wasn't angry with Methos for being Methos, he was mad at Kelly for defending Methos's actions. It was enough to drive a woman insane... and Kelly's patience was limited. On top of that, Mac kept trying to protect Kelly from the various Immortals that came his way... even though Kelly had proven she hadn't forgotten any of her mercenary skills. Amanda showing up unexpectedly, with a headhunting Immortal on her trail, had only made a tense situation worse.

She thought about the group of Joe's friends back at the bar. She chuckled softly to herself. The last thing she'd expected tonight was to meet new people. All she had wanted was to have a drink and congratulate Joe, and for a couple of hours, forget her problems. Remembering Sher's introduction, she was certain, though, that she probably would enjoy getting to know them better. She hoped she would get that chance.

 _Aaham._  She chuckled again at the nickname. Damned if he hadn't slipped a few secrets past her. She supposed it was only fair. She had certainly never told him that she had fallen in love with him during that stay with him in Paris. Initially, she'd wanted to know more about this enigmatic man who claimed friendship with Mac. From there, it had snowballed. She suspected he wasn't entirely immune to the spark of attraction that had flared to life during those weeks of trying to help her recover from a mission in Hong Kong. 

She was glad that he'd refused her impulsive offer of changing the nature of their friendship that distant day at the Louvre. She knew in her heart that she loved Mac more than Methos. Seeing Mac and Amanda together, though, had made her wonder if she'd ever be truly first in Mac's life. All it had taken was one look from Amanda, and he'd very nearly forgot Kelly existed.

She swore, knowing that the jealousy she felt was irrational and impractical. Pausing at a street corner, she glanced at the signs and determined her course. A few blocks ahead lay The Hunt Club, a bar she knew to be frequented by mercs.

She strode towards the entrance to the club and then hesitated. In the mood she was in, she knew she was spoiling for a good fight, one where the blows she landed didn't heal instantly. Mac didn't know she sometimes hung out here, or that all the bruises she earned didn't come from teaching classes at the dojo. It was her little secret, and she relished that.

Damn it, she needed the company of her own. She wasn't a mercenary anymore, but she kept ties with that world through The Hunt Club, and if Amanda was around, Mac didn't need her. She thought again of Mac's over-protectiveness.

_Amanda could **have**  the fucking Highlander._

With that thought in mind, Kelly pulled open the door and stepped inside.

  

* * *

 

The night crawled by on all fours, broken and slow. Joe and Sage were coaxed into an old blues version of "Mustang Sally". Methos relaxed. He would worry about Kelly later, if it were warranted. That was one of the reasons Methos liked her — Kelly could take care of herself.

Sher and Roger ordered food just before the kitchen shut down. Caly whined that she was hungry, and offered everyone in the bar the entire contents of her purse (roughly three hundred dollars, a bottle of puce nail polish, a box of band aids, four bottle caps, an empty diskette container, and a bag's worth of Skittles, but no actual bag) if they would magically produce waffles, with whipped cream, and in typical Caly fashion, kiwi. Joe and Sage snagged acoustical guitars and switched to Jackson Browne's Greatest Hits.

Methos pondered in the odd silence of his mind. Here they all were, the extended Clan MacLeod, without Mac. Methos had once sworn that he would never associate with this many Immortals ever again; it was bad for the lifespan. But in this case, he was suddenly bewildered as he glanced about, suddenly surrounded by several of his 'ilk'. That they were female didn't really matter; they could all still ice him.

 _Not that they would,_  he knew. Methos watched with idle eyes as Sage and Sher slouched in their chairs. Caly was deep in conversation — quiet conversation, for a change — with the poor shell-shocked Roger. Amanda was silent, staring intently at her wineglass, and Joe picked absently at the guitar in his lap. 

 _A good night,_  Methos thought to himself.  _No one is dead, no one is in trouble, and everyone is happy._  He remembered the argument between Kelly and Mac earlier in the evening, and shrugged to himself.  _Well, almost everyone._  He was sure that wherever Kelly was, she was probably tanked, and Mac had probably downed half a bottle of Scotch back at the loft. 

"When this place closes, where do we go, Mr. Joey?" Sage sang to the tune of 'Me and Bobby McGee', and everyone perked to attention. Caly's head swiveled so fast she almost fell off her chair. Methos made a mental note to carry her when they left the bar. He checked his watch.  _One forty? How in hell did I miss last call?_

"Let's go to Sherrie's, and play in the hay loft!" Caly suggested, swinging her beer bottle precariously from two fingertips. Roger had the presence of mind to remove it from her hand. Sher's eyes lit up despite being called 'Sherrie'.

"Ask Aaham about that," she murmured. Methos felt a surge of embarrassment. She was going to tell  **that**  story. "So he's forking loose bales of hay down to the lower level to pad the double stall, and he doesn't see the trap door open behind him, so — "

"Sher," Methos started. But the damage was done. Sage gave him a glance of triumph, and Joe studiously poured himself more Scotch from the bottle on the table.

Then Methos started to laugh. Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the company. "It was funny, wasn't it?" he asked around gasps.

"Hmm," Sage mused. "Methos laughing at himself. The planets must be in alignment."

As if Sage's words had been some cosmic cue, the door opened again, though with less drama than it had previously. Methos heard the noise of the street become louder, and watched various people look in that direction, as if it was a natural curiosity. The occupants of the tables around them glanced, and returned to their activities. The occupants of their table, however, seemed to react very differently.

Methos's grand insult to Sage died on his lips when he saw Joe's mouth open and close, but no sound seemed to be coming out. Sher's face had gone sheet white, and Sage was grabbing the table with one hand, the other reaching under the table. She was going for her swords.

"What is everyone staring a — oh." Roger stopped in mid sentence, eyes fastening on the door, and his hand reached out sightlessly for his drink. He picked up Sher's cigarette instead, and didn't even seem to notice that he was inhaling from a cigarette and not a shot glass.

Methos decided to turn around slowly. He knew in his gut that he was not going to like whatever this was.

He didn't. Methos suddenly felt ill, as if all the beer he'd had was not going to stay where he'd put it.  _This is **not**  happening_, he told himself.

His voice of self-preservation glanced up from its stein of beer and raised its hackles.  _What the fuck????_  it screeched.

Their newcomer looked slightly disheveled, as if he'd just woken up from sleep.  _And,_  the non-shocked five thousand year old part of Methos noted,  _if he is who I'm seeing, he has._

Richie Ryan stared about in the crowded room with a bit of surprise. It took him a few seconds for his eyes to alight upon their table. They couldn't have been hard to see. Aside from their rather ragtag bunch, they were the only mass of statues in the room, including both Sage and Amanda, who had just returned from the ladies' room.

"It worked," he heard her mutter to herself.

He should have called her on it, but Richie started moving towards them. Methos made a detailed analysis, just to make sure it wasn't a trick of the eye.  _Or the drink. Or a mass hallucination._

But there was the near-military buzz cut of the strawberry blonde locks, the jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket that had seemed to be 'standard Ryan issue'. And then, Richie smiled, and Methos's heart did about fifteen million beats in the next three nanoseconds. Richie shrugged off a drunken woman, waved to a waitress, and then in their direction. He looked... well, he looked... 

 _Alive_ **.**  It was more than a little discomforting to see that.  _Understatement of the millennia,_  his voice of sarcasm noted.  _Make that since the advent of Christianity. No no, the advent of Rome_. 

Sage spoke the words Joe was only sputtering. "It can't be."

Richie made it to their table, and stood there for a few seconds, a live mirage in an oasis of reality. His mouth seemed to move, and for a few more seconds, Methos entertained the idea that they had somehow conjured him through their mere presence.

Sher's jaw was grinding so badly the edges of her face were right angles. Her eyes were wide, and probably hadn't blinked since the door had opened. Amanda's face was a mix of pleasure and fear. Roger hadn't moved. Caly was unperturbed.  _Why should she be?_  Methos mused.  _She doesn't know who he is._

 _Holy shit._ Methos stopped from rising and realized that he hadn't  **sensed**  Richie. Not one little stirring in Presence. Ryan wasn't Immortal. 

"Hey guys," Richie started. He stared at all of them with a puzzled look. "Whaaaaaat?" he asked slowly, then looked behind himself to make sure they were staring at him.

Joe snapped back into reality. His features hardened, and he stood, swinging his cane up to slam on the tabletop. It made a deafening crack, even though it landed in Sher's basket of wings.

The room quieted, and all the patrons of the bar turned to Joe. After about three or four seconds of awkward silence, the Bluesmaster found his voice.

"The bar is closed. Go home."


	2. Chapter 2

Duncan curled up on the couch and felt like shit. 

 _It's my fault_ , he thought bitterly.   _If I didn't jump the gun and yell at her, she wouldn't run off._

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was having a good old fashioned guilt fest, in his own apartment, with a bottle of Scotch, and three packages of Mallomars.  He had yet to eat one Mallomar, but he could feel the calories leap at him just by staring at the open package, so why even bother? 

It all actuality, Mac and Kelly had not been getting along for the past month.  It was no surprise that when he had discovered her at the dojo about to behead another Immortal, his reaction had been the normal kind of response one might have if they discovered their girlfriend in a very awkward position.... 

He dropped the groceries and said, "What the hell?" 

Kelly turned those hard killing eyes on him, and let the words drop icily.  "Oh.  You're home early." 

"They didn't have any bok choi," he muttered, staring at the other Immortal, getting up off the floor.  Kelly kept her knife out, but backed away from the man, her entire posture screaming with a warrior's reflexes. 

She chuckled softly at the man, who was still recovering a little from Kelly's knife being through his chest.  "Get up, it can't hurt that bad," she grunted. 

"I am Luc San-Pierre," the other man said, holding his side, but reaching for his sword. 

Duncan unsheathed his katana, and nodded to the other Immortal.  "I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."  To Kelly he added.  "You, in the loft, now." 

Kelly had not looked happy.  Mac circled the other Immortal.  "So, where do we take this?" 

"The Wyndham Bridge, ten tonight," San-Pierre replied.  Duncan nodded grimly, and let him pass.  San-Pierre paused at the door, and turned to them.  He pointed to Kelly.  "And you and I can have a rematch," he purred, face curling up into a leer. 

Kelly rolled her eyes.  "That's what they all say." 

Mac's stomach rolled again.  Now he had to worry about Kelly too.... 

Mac had worried about Kelly.  All the way to the bridge.  They had sat through a rigid dinner, wordless and smoldering.  Kelly hadn't even looked at him, just showered by herself, then taken her plate to the couch for an uncharacteristic night vegging out in front of the television. 

When he had returned from the bridge, Kelly had been ready for San-Pierre.  He had opened the door to the lift and been greeted with a knife at his throat. 

"Nice welcome for the returning warrior," he joked.  Kelly relaxed, and resheathed the knife at her waist.  Mac noticed that she didn't remove it, as she normally did when she was in the loft.  He had made a pointed remark, and Kelly had sniped about being a big girl, and not relying on him, and then it had all exploded. 

Apparently Kelly didn't need him, she was only there for the sex and food, or so she told him.  Mac, who knew better played up to that and bit in, finally angry enough to slam his fist onto the counter. 

"I am outta here."  Kelly was putting on her coat.  She packed her gun.  "I'll be at Joe's, where, if I am not mistaken, we should have been hours ago, in case you didn't remember." 

And with that, she stormed out, leaving Mac to debate the value of following her in this condition.  But it was  **Joe's** party, and he had promised to be there.  Mac had followed on Kelly's heels, and then.. 

_Then the world exploded.  Again.  Twice in one day, that's a record for this century, MacLeod._

Mac had tried to explain.  He tried to explain that feeling in his gut when he saw anyone in danger because of him.  Even though San-Pierre had been indulgent enough to explain that he had in fact been looking for Amanda, it didn't diminish that feeling of supreme terror Mac felt when he saw Kelly point-to-point with another Immortal. 

He had tried to explain.  And then he had tried to explain it to Amanda as well.  Lovely Amanda, who had not made things better by trying to break them up.  Kelly was mad at the Immortal woman as well, and Amanda had tried to charm them both, as she was wont. 

The whole "charm the Highlander" thing was not what Mac needed at that moment.  He had said something terrible, that even now he was sure he couldn't recall because he was blocking it out, and Amanda had hauled back, socking his chest with a swift fist. 

Mac winced at the memory.   _Good one,_  he thought.   _Now they're both pissed._

Of course, Kelly had eventually stormed out, but not after making her  **point**  very clear.  And also of course, the crowded bar — something Mac had decidedly not been prepared for, Boy Scout jokes aside— had been no help, since it had gone stone silent the moment Amanda had belted him one. 

And  **Methos** and  **Joe** , just sitting there, smiling and gaping!  That had been the last straw.  Mac had bit into them too. 

 _This could just be your interpretation of it filtered through the last three shots,_  Duncan tried to tell himself.  He peeled the chocolate off a Mallomar and ate it shaving by shaving, replaying Sher's drunken speech in his head.   _No, believe you are still showing the replay the way it happened.  Have another._

"Methos," he muttered.  "'I give it a 8.9 in execution.'  Hmph." 

He should go find Kelly.  _No.  I should go back to the bar.  They're_ **my** _friends._   Duncan threw the Mallomar into the box and looked around for his shoes.   _Sher will tell us a story, and Sage will sing, and Caly will trip over her shoes_ , he thought.  _Methos can go fuck himself_ , he concluded in a moment of uncharacteristic blackness towards his friend.  If Methos and Kelly thought Mac hadn't noticed the tension between the two of them, they were fools indeed.  _Hey,_ he thought, stopping, dropping a shoe, and almost giggling.  _This may be be of the few times you are one up on Methos!  Woah, how many have you had? You better walk to the bar._

It was a lovely night, and the air was crisp.  San-Pierre's Quickening had been small, and it had left him with a feeling of energized restlessness. 

Duncan shoved his hands in his coat pockets, whistled, and concentrated on the feel of the wind through his hair. 

And the dart in his neck. 

And then nothing at all. 

  

* * *

 _"Don't know how you do,_    
 _The voodoo that you do so well_    
 _What's the spell?"_

_— Salt N' Pepa, "Shoop"_

The bar was finally empty, save for the few certain people milling around, but most of them were privy to the inner workings of Joe Dawson's life.  Sage and Methos had persuaded the bartender and waitresses to go home, and screw cleaning up.  In the meantime, Joe himself, was pacing in his office, waiting for the latest report on Richie Ryan to be faxed in from the Europe offices. 

The young Immortal in question was still seated at the table when Joe emerged from the back room, and most of the remaining members of the table started to settle in various positions around the room.  Mostly everyone was still at the table with fresh drinks; Sher and Methos perched on barstools a healthy distance from the table.  Joe didn't even  **want**  to know what either of them were thinking.  Sher refused to even look at Ryan, and Methos regarded the newly resurrected Immortal as if he was poison to the touch. 

Amanda was so excited she sipped from Caly's punch glass before she could stop herself.  "Richard!" she sang.  "I just can't believe it!" 

Richie raised an eyebrow.  "I know I was dead, and then..." he trailed off.  "Man, I hate not knowing what's going on, especially when I'm in the middle of it." 

Amanda looked like she was about to reply, but Joe tossed the fax from Paris on the table and sat down heavily. 

"Surprise," he muttered.  "You're still dead." 

Caly frowned and lit a cigarette.  "He doesn't look dead to me." 

"Mac cut his head off," Sage interjected quietly. Turning to Richie, she stared at him. "You're supposed to be dead." 

Richie rolled his eyes.  "So sorry to disappoint.  I'll try harder next time." 

"Hey, tilt your head up so we can look at your neck," Caly suggested. 

"Uh, guys, could I have a drink first," Richie suggested. "This coming back bit is a bit tiring. Anything but rum, though." He shuddered. 

"Rum?" Sher echoed.  Methos raised an eyebrow in questioning, and Joe watched their exchange with one ear and eye.  "You do know I saw his head in a jar at the Elders'?" he heard her whisper. 

"That does make things complicated," Methos answered hesitantly.  "Are you sure it was him?" he asked.  The look Sher shot him left no doubt in Joe's mind that she had, in fact, seen Richie's head. 

"Hey!" Richie exclaimed, drawing Joe's attention back to the table, where Sage had just poked Richie in the side with one of her long knives.  "Watch it!" 

"Corporeal," Sage sang as she resheathed the knife, looking smug. 

"So, you're definitely not a ghost," Joe accused.  "Or a demon." 

Caly's eyebrows raised.  "Demon?  Like in the Exorcist?  Woah..." She turned to Richie.  "Dude, if you have to projectile vomit green pea soup stuff, could you do it in the total opposite direction of wherever I happen to be at that time?"  she whispered.  Sher laughed, but it was strained.  Methos remained utterly silent. 

Richie held up his hands. "Look, all I know is that I'm here, there was some deal about chickens, and here I am." 

Sher fell off her seat when Richie said 'chickens'. 

"Oh, what does it matter?" Amanda said soothingly. "Richie's alive again." 

 _Yeah,_  Joe thought.   _'Again' being the operative word in that sentence._

Joe's cell phone trilled, and the others ignored him as he answered it, ambling over to the bar to hear better. He was still in shock at seeing Richie alive again, and the distraction of the phone was a welcome shot of reality. Even so, he could hear the clan debate Richie's reappearance. The voice on the other end of the line was mumbled, and Joe was forced to tune out the background noise entirely. 

By the time Joe returned some minutes later, the group had  apparently decided to accept Richie's appearance at face value.  Caly had inexplicably climbed into Richie's lap.  Joe guessed it had been to check Richie's neck, but the hacker had probably forgotten to go back to her own chair. Sage was giving a rousing rendition of Tommy Makem's 'As I Roved Out' when the Watcher returned to the table, eyes dark with worry. 

"That was Mac's Watcher," he told them. Sage stopped in the middle of the verse, and sat back in her seat. "Two minutes after he left the dojo, a black van drove up and snagged him off the street." 

"Oh my," Sher managed around an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips. "How tacky." 

  

* * *

Richie stood so fast he dumped Caly from his lap and onto the floor. But the girl's rubber heel of her "shit-kicker" clogs got caught on the tablecloth, and pulled the entire mess down onto the floor, soaking her in punch. There was a crash of broken glass, Amanda and Roger were hit with flying ice, and a great squeal as a little mortal was deluged with a gallon of cold alcoholic punch. 

Sage shot Methos a grin, and he almost laughed.  Strangely, he really did feel like laughing. 

A few seconds of silence ensued. Richie's face made a perfect "o" as he realized this little faux pas was his fault, and then Caly looked up at the now standing group while her hair dripped. 

"Did you see that?" she giggled sheepishly. "This time, it wasn't my fault!" 

Methos rolled his eyes. "One time out of a million," he snickered. 

Though his outward appearance was calm, he was racking his brain trying to figure out a plan for getting Mac returned. Methos looked around at the ragtag bunch of Immortals (Watchers too, and one clumsy mortal) that was gathered. They needed Mac because what the fuck good was a clan without a laird? 

Caly glared at Methos, and flicked her dripping fingers in his face. 

Richie groaned, looking as though he was torn between running for the door and helping Caly. She made it easy for him. "Richie, you can't fucking go running off when you don't know where to go," Caly said as she sat in the puddle of punch. 

"He left without his coat!" Richie almost shouted. "That means he doesn't have his sword and—" 

Methos held up his hand for silence, and the younger Immortal stopped. Sher's hand slid to Mac's overcoat on the bar counter.  She shook her head. 

"Negative," she told him. 

"All right," Methos said calmly, as if the tone of his voice could calm everyone down.  "He probably has his sword, but he apparently didn't have a chance to use it." 

Richie threw up his hands, opening his mouth, but Sage capped his face with her hand. "Curly, we have  **nothing**  to go on right now. Running out like a maniac might just get you snatched as well," she told him bluntly. Richie paused, then nodded in agreement. He began pacing around the table, running his hands through his hair. 

Caly was still on the floor and looked up at Methos. "Help me up, Bro," she demanded. 

"I think not," he muttered. "You'll cause less trouble down there." 

Sage sighed, and finished wiping punch and ice off of her trampy outfit, mumbling thanks to God that she had resisted the urge to change into drier clothes earlier. Then she stood to help Caly.  "Methos, you know that if she tries to stand by herself she'll end up hurting herself." 

Sher snickered and finally got around to lighting her cigarette, though worry tinged her eyes in a languid manner that Methos recognized. She might be able to fool others into thinking that Mac's kidnapping didn't bother her, but he wasn't one of them. Or Joe, he acknowledged when the bartender caught Sher's eye and nodded his head. Sher responded by widening her eyes briefly before taking a hit from her cigarette. 

Actually, Methos admitted, none of them could hide anything from each other at all. They all knew everyone else too well. He was the only exception, really. Even Sage and Sher could only predict him accurately about forty percent of the time. 

Caly wrung out her clothing as best she could and then turned to Methos. 

"Find out what you can from Joe," she advised. "I'm going home to change and I'll man the computers. I'll check through the Stalker files for any k'immies in town and see if any of them have a habit of playing unfair." 

She frowned."To track the van and the people, I'll need a partial license plate, physical description, birth sign — anything you can get," she said quietly and Methos nodded. 

She grabbed her coat and hurried outside to her jeep. 

"Where's she going?" Sage asked quietly. 

"Home. Caly's a hacker," Joe explained. "If we can come up with one letter of the license plate, I don't doubt she'll find out who the hell took Mac." 

Sage nodded her head and started straightening up the mess Richie and Caly had made. 

Sher flicked an ash from her cigarette and frowned. "Where is Kelly?" she asked and everyone stopped. It was a good question. 

Joe blinked. "I'm not sure." 

Sher moaned and shook her head. "Try the loft or any other place she might be," she told Methos. 

The old man flinched, not liking that Sher had noticed the... well, whatever the hell it was that flew between him and Kelly, despite Mac.  _Sure, her forty percent accuracy would be in effect tonight._

Joe started dialing the phone. "She might have seen something and decided to go out on her own," he said absently. " If she doesn't know what happened, then she deserves to." 

Roger backed up to the bar, taking everything in with wide eyes— including Joe's use of confidential Watcher information in an inappropriate manner. Sher leaned towards him and spoke quietly, but Methos heard. 

"Roger, your relationship with me isn't exactly allowed according to the rules," Sher reminded him. "Elders or no Elders." He opened his mouth to speak but Sher stopped him with a soft "hush", in that whiskey voice of hers. Roger hushed. 

Sage finished righting everything and flopped into a chair. "So, rundown time," she announced. "Mac's gone. Methos is going to find Kelly. Joe is going to give the third degree to the Watcher on duty to get more information. Caly is waiting on hand to use what Joe finds out. Richie is— "  she trailed off, and everyone stared at the revived Immortal.  Richie glared, but it was half hearted.  No one could or would go near the tail end of that sentence.  At least, not yet anyway.  Sage seemed to find her half-sentence sufficient, and shrugged, her attentions turning elsewhere.  "And Amanda has been oddly silent," she finished. 

At that, everyone turned to Amanda. 

Amanda shrugged casually. "I'm just floored by what happened," she dismissed. 

Methos's face tightened and he turned cold eyes her way and raised a brow. "Amanda, you have five seconds to start telling the truth or I'm going to make the Plague look like a goddamn picnic," he said in a dangerous voice. 

Amanda tried her best innocent look.  But Methos wasn't Richie, and wouldn't be fooled. 

Richie, for his part, froze, caught by the dangerous tone in Methos's voice. His blue eyes narrowed. "Amanda, you seem to be the only one not wigged out by my arrival," he began suspiciously. 

Methos took up the thread.  "What did you mean earlier when you said 'it worked', and why do I have the feeling that it had something to do with Mac getting kidnapped?"  Amanda blinked. Her lips curved into a moue of innocence and she lifted her shoulders slightly.  "Don't give me that look," he told the woman sternly. 

Amanda was saved from having to answer that by the entrance of a tall, broad-shouldered man in a brown leather jacket, black T-shirt, and black jeans. He had sandy brown hair, a chiseled face, and crossed the room with an unconscious grace that raised Sher's eyebrows. 

"There you are," the newcomer declared. Irritation made his voice sharp. "This isn't Tahiti, Amanda." 

"Nick, you weren't supposed to follow me," she snapped off impatiently. "There's a perfectly good reason why I didn't want you coming here." 

"Well, speaking for myself," Sher drawled with a blatant leer, "I'm rather pleased that he did." 

Sage grinned and leaned forward. "You don't just speak for yourself," she muttered and the two women shared a grin. 

Abruptly realizing that there were others at the table where Amanda sat, Nick took a step back. "Let me guess, you're Immortal and you and Amanda go way back." He glanced at Amanda for confirmation and was met by a bland stare. 

"Why do I ever bother to ask anymore?" he asked Joe. 

The Watcher shrugged.  "I stopped asking a long time ago, pal." 

"Actually, we just met." Sher narrowed her gaze and asked coolly, "So what brings you here?" 

"I'm looking for a Ross Caindale," Nick stated flatly. 

Roger found his voice at last. "Why?" 

"Because I've got a dead actress, a voodoo cult, and a missing shipment of weapons, and his name keeps cropping up." 

"Voodoo?"  Sher muttered, her emerald eyes widening so much they looked orbital.  Her head snapped over in Richie's direction, and she shuddered.  Roger frowned. 

"Voodoo," he echoed a third time.  "Is there some great import behind this, Sher?" 

The Texan swiveled her head back to Roger, then to the rest of the others in the room, who had taken to staring at her, since she had voiced her thoughts aloud.  "I should have guessed.  Chickens, rum. Voodoo," she said shakily.  "Not that.  Anything but that." 

"What, Sher?"  Roger poured her a drink, and she downed it immediately.  "Is this an Elder thing?" 

No," Sher answered hastily.  "No, not yet," was her uncertain answer. She watched Amanda chastise Nick, and her smile returned.  "This is gonna be good," she whispered to Roger and Methos, a weak smile on her lips. 

"You'd have been better off leaving it alone like I told you," Amanda interjected. "Go home, Nick." 

"Not until you explain to me what's going on here."  Nick stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket, and glared at the rest of the room, daring someone to try and kick him out.  As if anyone would. 

Methos sighed.   _Ah, mortals, youngsters.  Watchers, cops.  What a fucking mess._

"We're waiting, Amanda," Methos reminded her.  Everyone seemed to remember that Amanda had previously been the source of information, and all eyes returned to her. 

Feeling the collective stares of her audience, she sighed exasperatedly. "It was supposed to be simple. Raise the dead, have Richie back for a while, and Duncan would stop grieving like he has been." Plaintively, she turned to Richie. "You know he's been torn up by that accident." 

"Don't remind me," Richie groaned. "It's been painful to watch from the Other Side. It wasn't his damned fault." 

"Raise the dead?" Sher whispered hoarsely, eyes incredulous.  "Simple? Raise the dead?  Is everyone hearing this?  Raise the dead!!  The  **dead**?"  Sage smirked.  Sher threw up her hands.  "Only here would anyone call raising the dead 'simple'.  Only here." 

Richie's voice hardened. "Let's not kick a dead horse.  I'm here, deal.  But from the way this guy— " he waved a hand to indicate Nick "— is talking, you forgot a tiny little detail." 

"Well, he wanted so much..." Amanda began. 

Sage snickered. Methos shot her a glare, though he privately thought it was so  **typical**  of Amanda to try and weasel out of payment. 

"But I swear I didn't know about the weapons," Amanda continued. She glanced at Methos, hoping for sympathy. She winced at the cold, forbidding expression he gave her.   "Methos, please, I didn't know he was going to ask me to break into a military warehouse when I approached him about getting Richie back. I didn't even know what the place was — it was a dock in Paris, for crying out loud, and it was dark. All I had to do is break in and get some papers from the warehouse office, I swear, but when I realized where I was, I... left." 

Richie exhaled heavily. "Well, I'm glad to be back, but damn it, Amanda, couldn't you have just paid the guy?" 

Amanda looked insulted. "That  **was**  the payment." 

"So what does that have to do with MacLeod getting kidnapped?" Roger asked, confused. 

Amanda threw her hands up in the air. "How should I know?" 

Nick took a step closer to the table. "Wait a minute, someone's been kidnapped?" 

Sage once again took control of the situation. "Methos, you'd better go find Kelly," she admonished him. "We're going to need her, even if she is pissed off enough to kill MacLeod. The rest of us will work on a plan." 

To Nick, she responded, "Yes, someone's been kidnapped. I think you'd better sit down, take your coat off, and have what's left of the punch. We're going to be a while." 

Grateful for the excuse to leave, Methos slipped on his trench coat. He didn't like this new wrinkle, but Sage was right. They had to know where Kelly was.  And he knew just the place. 

  

* * *

  
As Methos left the bar, Nick took a seat. His face reflected his wariness at being thrust into an unfamiliar situation. "What's going on?" he demanded. 

"Duncan MacLeod's been kidnapped," Roger clarified, the gears in his head almost visibly turning as if he were pondering the ramifications of the event. 

Sage grunted.  _Watchers are creepy,_  she concluded mentally. 

"Who's Duncan MacLeod?" Nick wondered aloud 

"He's my teacher and my best friend," Richie put in. 

"He also killed you," Sage pointed out unnecessarily. 

"I didn't need to be reminded of that," Richie shot back. 

Gesturing to a bewildered Nick, Sage countered, "He didn't know." 

"Well, Nick knows now," Amanda interjected. "Can we just get on with it?" To Nick, she added, "Duncan's an old friend. We all look up to him." 

"Some more than others," Sher observed dryly. Sage couldn't have agreed more. "Okay, so you're Nick. I presume you have a last name?" 

"Wolfe," he returned. "You are?" 

Sher quickly went through the introductions, finishing with, "Now that we've got that out of the way, you said you were on the trail of a Ross Caindale?" 

Nick began the tale of how he was on the trail of Ross Caindale, even though it was clear that he was supremely annoyed. 

"Ross Caindale," he said, accepting Sage's offer of punch dubiously. He sniffed it, and set it down. "Welsh, born in Cardiff in 1962. No other records and the word is he deals in arms. Word also says he spent a little too much time in the Caribbean as a child." 

The table was silent. Finally Roger cleared his throat. All eyes turned towards the young researcher. 

"So he's the one responsible for..." he trailed off, and everyone's eyes went to Richie. 

The young Immortal glared at them. "What?" he asked, exasperated and throwing up his hands. He resumed pacing, and Sage sighed. Pacing was one of those things that drove everyone into an unconscious frenzy. 

Amanda sighed. "Nick, you should have stayed home," she muttered, and took a sip of punch. 

"Oh, and miss out on the chance to meet all your nifty friends?" Nick shot back, finally picking up the cup of punch and sipping from it before he could stop himself. He made a face; Sher laughed, and passed him her bottle of Scotch. 

"Waitaminute," Joe said, scratching his head absently. "Lemme see if I got this all straight." He rubbed his beard, staring off into space before looking at Amanda. "You wanted to cheer up Mac, so you had Richie raised from the dead, using someone who knows voodoo." 

At that conclusion, Sher excused herself and ran to the bathroom, a flurry of clove and the hard clack of cowboy boots. Richie shrugged. 

Sage didn't like how Sher was not-handling this.   _They must be big on voodoo in Texas,_  Sage realized. 

Joe continued, "Then as payment, the guy who resurrected Richie wants you to break into a military warehouse, full of weapons. But you didn't know what was in there, and when you found out, you dropped the ball, and came... here." Amanda nodded earnestly, eyes wide. Joe groaned. "Only an Immortal," he lamented. 

"Hey!" Sage snorted. "I was never that foolhardy."   _Whoops,_  she thought.  _I must still be a little tipsy._

Nick snickered, and Roger hid his face. 

"Why don't we just move on, people," Richie cut in before the Immortal women could snipe any more. "What does the dead actress have to do with it?" 

"Ah, the $64,000 question," Nick sang. 

Everyone groaned. Sher returned from the rest room, pale and sober, but she slid into her seat and lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. 

Nick barreled on. "She's his ex-partner. They both owned a seaside resort in Jamaica that went belly up about three years ago. The two divided their losses and split... his name just pops up in the oddest of places, like other people I know. Ones with long life spans... Amanda?" The ex cop turned to Amanda, who sighed. 

"No, Nick, he's not an Immortal," she groaned, and his brows furrowed. 

"No, he wouldn't be," Sher mused. 

Roger raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" 

All eyes centered on the Texan who shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. 

"Magic — Immortals can't work that kind of magic," she whispered low. 

Roger's head hit the table. 

"Don't tell me, your big thesis, right?" Joe groaned. 

Sher nodded, and her eyes brightened; she sat forward in her chair. "Yes. See, Immortals like Kantor and Cassandra can work mind magic, like hypnosis, and the like, but spells that require blood — in this case, the blood of the summoner— don't work. Caindale isn't Immortal; he couldn't be, if this spell were to work. Raising the dead requires more than a sacrifice, it requires the summoner to open a vein, so to speak, and so it wouldn't work because of the incompatibility of the genetic structure with the basic requirements of the spirit summoned. So..." 

Sher stopped, sitting back. She took a hit off her cigarette, shrugging. "It wasn't an Immortal, end of story. This doesn't help us find Mac or Caindale," she pointed out. When everyone continued to stare, she glared, a mirror of Richie earlier. "What?" 

Roger shook his head. He was becoming accustomed enough to the Immortals in the room to be candid. "You scare me, Sher, you really do." 

"Seconded," Richie piped in, eyes wide. 

Sher shrugged, eyes flitting to the tabletop. She pulled her sleeve up. "Bite me. Bite me so hard." Sage snickered. 

Joe ignored her. "So," he said. "Do we know any more about Caindale?" 

Amanda shook her head. Nick mirrored her. Joe's bar phone rang, and Roger scrambled to answer it. The room listened in silence. 

"Joe's... yeah, Adam, we're all still here... where are you? Oh. Oh you did?" Roger put his hand over the mouthpiece. "He says he's got her." He spoke into the phone again. "Meet you where? How long do you think it will take to... oh, I see. We'll wait on you there, then. Yes, I think some of us know where Calypso lives." 

When Roger hung up he wasted no time imparting the information that Methos had an idea of Kelly's whereabouts, and hinted that it might take a while for him to extricate her. 

Sher snorted. "Extricate, from her," she muttered, and Joe hit the back of her head, despite the distance between them. She grinned wryly, and Sage tilted her head. 

"Aaham, and the Kellinator. I can see it," she mused, and the two women who had known Methos biblically smirked. 

The fact was, Sage  **could**  see it. It bothered her.  _He's not yours anymore,_  she told herself.  _Not that it matters, because the two of you were terrible together. Still—_

Sher had admitted that to her it was a 'grass is greener on the other side' issue with her. One drunken night she had confided in Sage: 

_"Ah think the only reason I miss Aaham is because he's not here anymore." They were on the back porch of the farm house, swilling gin and tonic. Sage nodded._

_"I hear you there." She and Sher toasted with their mason jars full of liquor. Sage sighed. "I have no idea why I should have cared if he was boffing you," she said soberly._

_Sher rolled her eyes. "Thanks. Boff. Nice one." She lit a cigarette. "I say we kiss the past good-bye, and hope the future is much better. I can deal with Aaham if he isn't here."_

_Sage snickered. "Can I get an amen?" The two women grinned from ear to ear, slinked glasses again, and screamed 'hallelujah!' at the top of their lungs. And they both knew it was a lie._

Sage snapped back to the present as Roger pushed on. "I do believe there was something about drinking, and intoxication," he continued. "He'll meet us at Caly's in a half hour." 

"Geez," Joe griped. "What did Kelly do, hook a whiskey IV to her arm?" 

Sage grinned, and searched the nearby tables for her coat. "Ten bucks says she downs fifths like cartons of iced tea," she sang. 

No one took the bet. 

"Allrightie then, on to Caly's," Richie affirmed. 

Nick froze. "Caly Wilde?" he asked sickly and everyone blinked. 

"Yeah, who else?" Sage asked reasonably. 

Nick shook his head and muttered under his breath. "Heads...airports...Myers...carry-on bags...police..." 

Sage laughed. "I see you've been in the midst of a Pixie Predicament," she noted. Nick nodded and looked at her questioningly. Sage shrugged. "Hey, I've seen a few. After all, Adam is her 'Bro' and he and I used to...well, anyway," she finished lamely. 

People rose, grabbing coats and bags. Sher dug the keys to her truck out from her pocket. 

"Sher," Richie called. "Need a ride?" He reached out to touch her shoulder, but the Texan dove away, evading his grasp. 

"Nothanks," she blurted, and sprinted for the door. "I'llbeinthetruckRoger." 

Richie shrugged. "What is that all about?" 

No one had an answer. 

* * *

_Caly's House, Outside Seacouver_

Everyone but Joe was stunned by Caly's cloud and sky house. "I am not seeing this," Sage muttered, eyes wide. "This is so fucking cool!" 

Nick shook his head. "People live here?" 

"Only one," Joe replied with a smirk. 

They filed into the house, music blasting from the speakers wired into every room. Sher smirked at the music. Roger laughed, and turned to his old friend. 

"Now if Sage would tell Amanda that 'there must be some kind of way out of here', we could have a reenactment of  _All Along the Watchtower_ ," Sher mused. 

Richie looked perplexed. Joe grunted. He got the joke. He'd laugh at it later. 

Sage glared. "Are you calling me the Joker?" she asked, hands on hips. 

Sher didn't miss a beat, and lit a cigarette. "Nope." 

"Guys, this does not help, no matter how complex or amusing, it might be," Joe told them all. "I think we might want to find Caly." 

The ragtag group trundled through the house to the computer room, and Roger's jaw dropped. Sher rolled her eyes, and slid against the wall. "He has found a computer, they'll be babbling for hours," she mourned. 

Caly spun around on her chair and almost fell off with the force of the spin. He hair was spiky and wild, and somewhere over the course of whatever she'd been doing, she'd gotten a big streak of blue pen on her cheek, and acquired a headband with googly antennae on it. The little sparkly stars on the ends bobbed as she turned. Joe rolled his eyes. 

Caly lit a cigarette. "You guys got me something, right? Stalker files don't have shit to go on," she sang cheerfully. 

Roger sat at one of the computers and started rattling off questions. Sher watched Caly blabber answers in computer gibberish, and after about three seconds, the two were enveloped in their own little world. 

Joe tapped Caly's head. 

"Hey there, little bear, we got a name for you. C-a-i-n-d-a-l-e, Ross Caindale. Can you do something with that?" he asked gently. 

Caly looked up with raccoon rimmed eyes, smudged eye makeup, a cigarette dangling from her lips. Joe worried that she'd drop it in her lap one of these days. For all that she was clumsy, Caly had been very lucky with cigarettes. 

"Daddy-o, I was  **born**  for this," the mortal answered and began to practice the mystical art to which she had been bred, it seemed. 

Speaking of mystical... 

"You know, look up voodoo, and other things like that. See if there have been a lot of cult killings or something like that." Caly made a snort noise, and nodded, ashes falling into the keyboard. "And maybe military weapons thefts. And the death of, what's her name?" Joe turned to Nick. 

"Marie Renee, she was a stage actress on the Thames," he answered. 

"It's so fucking good to see you again, Nick," Caly trilled happily. "You're so easy on the eyes." 

"Isn't he just," Sage murmured and Amanda glared at her. Sage held up her hands and widened her eyes. "Hey, you've got him  **and**  Mac? Doesn't seem fair to me." 

Amanda stalked across the room while Sher tossed a crumpled five to the other Immortal. 

"Nothing about this day has been good," Nick growled. "Immortals, Watchers, zombies, weapons and hackers never mean good things." 

"Yeah, all we need are the Elders to make it a  **complete**  mess," Sher muttered darkly. 

Sage whistled the chorus of "My Favorite Things" from 'The Sound Of Music', and Sher gave her the finger. 

Sage pulled a five out of her pocket, folded it into a little airplane, and threw it at Roger, who caught it in one hand withoug even glancing away from the computer screen. Joe sighed. Betting betting betting. He should make a bet as to who would win the most money by the time the night was over. 

"Get to work, Caly," Joe reminded her. 

Caly made the "ok" sign with one hand, and she and Roger launched into a technical form of discourse so convoluted it hurt Joe's ears. 

Sher excused herself to the kitchen area, and the rest of them milled around, until Caly ushered them out of the room, asking that they 'get the hell away and let her and Roger work their magic.' The group trooped dutifully down to the kitchen. 

Sher dashed outside, and Joe watched her leave with curious eyes. 

Amanda scrounged for coffee implements, chatting with Nick and Richie, flirting with both of them in turn. Finding the canister of beans, she ground them, dumped them into the automatic coffeemaker, and set the coffee to brew. 

Sage tapped Joe's arm and gestured towards the window. "That one," she whispered, indicating Sher sitting on the hood of her truck. "She spook like that before?" 

Joe watched the Texan light a cigarette, and shook his head. "No..." 

Sage snorted, and played with one of Caly's hideous Stars Wars ceramic mugs. This one was shaped like Boba Fett's head. "You say she's from Texas?" 

Joe nodded. "Yeah," he answered. 

Sage handed the mug to Amanda for a coffee fill up. "You ever consider," she offered nonchalantly. "That she's seen voodoo before? I mean, the South is littered with it. Voodoo, Hoodoo, Santeria, maybe even Brujeria...was she close to the border of Mexico?" Joe nodded, his mind whirring. 

"So, she might know about this stuff?" he said numbly. 

Sage shook her head. "I dunno, but she's scared shitless. I would ask her what is up with that. If she has to go near Richie, and she can't, that would put a damper on the fun, you know?" 

Joe groaned. "How come I gotta go?" he complained. 

Sage smiled. "Because you da big daddy-o," he offered, eyes wide and mischievous. 

Joe rolled his eyes, and let her kiss his forehead. "Yeah, I be the big daddy-o." 

  

* * *

Methos drove up to the front gates of Caly's and waited for them to open. He glanced over at his passenger as he waited. Beside him in the passenger seat, Kelly was looking worse for the wear. Her initial anger at Mac had swiftly changed to anger at his kidnappers. Now, though, she had retreated into a deadly silence. Her eyes were hard and cold, her body was tense, and her chin was set. 

He knew she was still legally intoxicated, but even so, she seemed ready for battle. For a moment, he was tempted to turn around and forget the whole rescue effort. He knew that within an hour, he could just disappear...and he was certain he could convince Kelly to go with him. 

 _Why are you thinking of that?_  he admonished himself. S _he loves Mac, and you're not about to risk losing the Game's best hope._

The front gates swung open, and Methos drove up to the house, parking his sport utility vehicle beside Sher's truck. Even the house's odd paint job didn't get Kelly's attention. She slid to the ground and stalked up the steps to the front door. Methos sighed and glanced at Joe and Sher. 

They'd been talking in hushed tones until he and Kelly had pulled up. Now they were silent in that 'it's all innocent' way that was making him nervous. 

 _Whatever,_   he thought.  _The last thing I need is one of Sher and Joe's chatty times._

Methos shook his head at the two, and then made his way into the house. He headed immediately to the second floor, where it seemed everyone had gathered. The coffee and food in their hands, however, signaled that they'd retreated to the main kitchen to scrounge up whatever they could to soak up the alcohol in their stomachs. 

Amanda was on the futon arguing with Nick. Sage, who apparently had changed out of her ruined dress into a pair of leggings and a form-fitting top, had a hand clamped down on Richie's arm, trying to make the young man stand still. Caly and Patterson were at one of the computers, no doubt working on finding MacLeod, while Kelly glowered at them and told them to hurry up. 

"Listen," Caly snapped finally, "Don't take that fucking tone with me, all right? I'm doing the best I can and you breathing down my neck isn't going to make anything go faster, damn it!" 

"Sit down, Richie!" Sage finally yelled in exasperation. "You're going to drive us all to the loony bin if you keep it up." 

"This is none of your business, Nick," Amanda said impatiently. "My life is my own concern and I don't need, or want, you showing up to rescue me all the damn time." 

Methos almost ran headfirst into the wall. Three scrimmages had broken out at once. Surveying the situation, he figured that Sage and Richie were a rather benign problem. Amanda could take care of herself. Kelly, on the other hand... 

Running across the room, Methos grabbed Kelly's arm as she was about to put a knife to Caly's throat. "Kelly," he warned dangerously. 

Kelly glared at him and yanked her arm away. "Fine, fine." She stormed across the room and sat at a chair by the window, sheathing the knife as she did so. 

Richie and Sage were still arguing. So were Amanda and Nick. Methos lost his patience. 

"That is enough, damn it!" he shouted, causing everyone to gape at him incredulously. "Shut the hell up," he advised them. "Focus on finding MacLeod, not on your petty squabbling." 

The group was chastised and looked at the floor. 

"Hey, Ryan," Caly called out. "Why don't you come on over and give me a hand. It'll make you feel productive. And get the big, bad, old man to stop with his tantrum." 

"Fine, fine," Richie shouted, and threw his hands up in the air before stalking over to Caly. 

Methos shook his head and Sage joined him. "Fill me in on what happened," Methos requested quietly. 

Sage told them about Nick's story. Then she paused. 

"There's something else," Sage murmured. 

Groaning, the old man rubbed his forehead and wished he'd never gotten out of bed that morning. "What else?" he moaned. "What the hell else could there be?" 

"Scheherazade," Sage explained and Methos almost pulled his hair out in agitation. "She had some freaky reaction to the voodoo addition." 

Methos flinched. "Joe can handle that for now," he whispered. Then he stopped. "She hasn't said anything about any Elders, has she?" 

Sage smirked. "Not in reality. Why?" 

Methos shrugged. When things are bad for Sher, they have this habit of making her life hell," he mumbled. Sage sipped from a hideous coffee mug in the shape of Chewbacca from the Star Wars movie, and smiled at him. 

"Why Aaham," she began. Caly let out a big squeal, and shoved back on her roller chair. 

"Yeah that's right!" she screamed at the screen. "Who's laughing now, bitch? Huh?" Then she called out over her shoulder, "Address, anyone? Anyone interested in an address?" Caly trilled out suddenly. Everyone flew to their feet and ran towards her. 

Caly laughed. "I've got an address in the financial district. It's listed as Caindale's home address, but the building is an office high-rise. I did some checking, and he lives in a five-floor penthouse on top." 

"He probably wouldn't have Mac there," Sage mused and Caly nodded. 

"Agreed," the tiny woman replied. "Thing is, there is no other property around here listed in his name, Marie's name, or in the name of any of his corporations. I've done a search with his picture, but haven't found any other identities he uses. There's surprisingly little information on this man, which is making me very concerned," Caly finished. 

"So let's go," Kelly snapped, and started from the room. 

Sage sighed and grabbed her arm. "Plans are a good thing, Kelly," Sage reminded her. "Someone get Joe and Freaked-Out Girl up here. We need to figure out how to handle this." 

Kelly stared at the hand on her arm, then looked at Sage. Methos could tell by the expression on Sage's face that she could smell the distinct odor of whiskey, and had realized that Kelly was still fairly well intoxicated. He cringed and Sage braced herself for the fight she must have suspected was coming her way. 

"I'll go," Richie volunteered, rising from his chair next to Caly. 

"No!" Sage snapped, keeping her blue eyes on Kelly. "You're the last thing she needs right now." 

"I'll do it," Nick offered, seeming glad for the chance to escape what had suddenly become a tense situation all over again. 

As Nick left the room, Kelly laughed quietly. "Don't trust me, do you?" she challenged. "I may still be slightly drunk, Sage, but I can fight better than anyone." She lifted her chin and Sage caught sight of the bruise darkening her jaw. 

"Would you like to go to jail for that bar brawl you caused," Methos remarked casually, "or are you going to be grateful I convinced the manager of the Hunt Club not to press charges?" 

"You were in a bar brawl?" Caly asked curiously. 

Kelly shot Methos a glare before turning to the petite woman. Laughing ruefully, she admitted, "Yeah." She returned her focus to Sage. "Guess I'm still feeling like I could hit something. I can't believe Mac's been kidnapped." 

Warily, Sage let go of Kelly, sensing it was as close to an apology as she was going to get. 

"I don't think I've met anyone who's caused a bar brawl before," Caly remarked. 

Kelly shrugged. "Seemed like a pretty good idea at the time." She exhaled heavily and sat down on the nearest chair. 

Richie scooted closer to her. "You like fighting?" he asked her. 

"Beats dying," Kelly remarked. "Besides, it's what I do best." She paused. "You know, for a walking corpse, you're looking pretty good. Aren't you supposed to be rotting away or something?" 

Richie looked like he was going to reply to that, but Roger chose that moment to speak. 

"Uh, Caly?" the Watcher asked nervously, pointing to the screen in front of him. "Is that supposed to be flashing like that?" 

Caly rapidly rolled her chair over to Roger, crashing into him with such force that he fell off the chair he was sitting on. 

Snickering, Kelly, who was closest to him, pulled him to his feet. Roger's face became dazed as he came in contact with Kelly's... _Assets_ , Methos censored his own thoughts. Kelly smiled at the researcher as if recognizing the effect she'd had on him, and left him standing shakily to move over to where Caly was furiously typing in a series of commands. 

"What is it?" Kelly asked. 

"Trace," Caly answered distractedly. Her right hand left the mouse for a moment to paw the countertop. "Damn it, where'd my cigarettes go?" 

Amanda, who stood on the far end of the room, reached down and picked up a pack from where Caly had thrown it at her earlier in a frustrated attempt to get Amanda and Nick to stop fighting long enough to concentrate. Expertly, she tossed it to Caly. Kelly caught it for her, not wanting the petite woman to hurt herself trying to catch it. 

Caly smiled gratefully as Kelly handed her the pack and found her lighter. Lighting the cigarette, Caly took a deep drag before she turned her attention to reading the screen, while everyone else waited patiently for Sher, Joe, and Nick to return. 

  

* * *

Outside, Sher rummaged through her collection of tapes, trying very hard not to shiver. She'd been willing to think that maybe there had been some mistake, that Richie Ryan hadn't really been made into a zombie and it had all been some kind of cosmic joke. She'd tried to tell Joe that, but she'd succeeded only in annoying him, causing him to leave. She snorted. 

_My whole life has been one cosmic joke, and I haven't laughed about it yet. Why do I keep thinking this might be funny?_

Trying to distract herself from thinking too deeply about Richie, she reviewed the conversation she'd had with Joe earlier, before Methos had shown up with Kelly, and sighed tiredly. She had wanted to understand why Methos seemed to be attracted to Mac's girlfriend...and now that she knew a bit more about the ex-mercenary, she wondered if having Methos go after her  **again**  had been a good idea. She'd seen the look in Methos's eyes when he thought no one had been watching. He'd been afraid Kelly was going to hurt herself. Kelly, for her part, had seemed be  **very**  close to Methos. 

Moreover, Sher would be willing to bet that part of Kelly and Mac's constant arguing stemmed from the way the undercurrents flowed between Kelly and Methos. She didn't think Mac would be jealous, but someone would have to be blind not to notice the sexual tension between Methos and Kelly. Methos would be perverse enough not to explain why that was so, and Mac would demand answers...and Sher suspected Kelly would probably tell him to go to hell for doubting her. 

 _If it came down to saving Mac or Methos, I wonder who Kelly would pick?_  She'd asked Joe that. 

His answer had been interrupted by the arrival of Methos and Kelly. 

Now, as before, Sher wondered about the coincidental timing of Mac's kidnapping. There had been a time when Sher wouldn't have thought too much about coincidences, but not lately. Too much of her life had been orchestrated for her to believe in serendipity anymore. 

On the other hand, there was Richie to think about.  _Don't think about it then,_  she told herself sternly. 

The voice of reality snickered inside her head.  _That's a good one. You should take that cat to Broadway,_  it sang. 

Sher muttered, and slumped in the truck, trying not to feel Richie's Quickening, or lack thereof, slide along her skin. No, he wasn't Immortal anymore, but he had been. It was as if Richie had been stripped of all that power he had once had, and that void was almost like a vortex. Sher could feel herself move closer to Richie when they were together, and she hated that 'sucking' sensation. She had enough problems being near Methos. 

 _Well, get used to it, because he's gonna have to be put back,_  she told herself.  _And you could bet yourself a case of scotch on who in this little group is going to be doing that, but you already have a case at home._

"I don't even know if I can do it, so shut up," Sher told the steering wheel. She needed a cigarette. She flicked on the radio, and sighed. 

  

* * *

Glad to be free of the chaos, Nick made his way outside, passing Joe in the process. After telling the older man about the meeting, he moved quickly through the house to the driveway. As he approached Sher's monster-sized truck, he could hear the strains of rock music pounding through the truck's open windows. 

"Some kind of voodoo   
Come across this land   
Some kind of voodoo   
We need a medicine man..." 

He smiled as he recognized Aerosmith's "Voodoo Medicine Man".  _Someone appreciates irony_ ,  he thought as he stepped up to the truck and rapped on the driver's side door. 

Sher leaned out of the window. Her reddish-blonde hair draped her face as she realized she had a visitor. Nick watched her disappear for a moment, then the volume of the stereo was muted. 

"What's going on?" Sher asked when she reappeared again. 

"I volunteered to get you for a strategy meeting upstairs." Nick stuck his hands in his pockets, and ignored the stream of smoke that billowed his way. 

She sighed, and took a nervous drag on her cigarette. Leaning on the windowsill, she asked, "Doesn't this whole thing scare you?" 

Nick shrugged uncomfortably. "Which part, the mini-convention of Immortals I seem to have stumbled into, the fact that Amanda's managed to completely turn my life upside down, or I'm suddenly involved in helping rescue some guy I don't even know from a guy who knows some kind of magic I'm not familiar with?" 

Sher chuckled. "Pick one." 

The tall, broad-shouldered ex-cop shook his head. "If there's one thing I've learned, just being around Amanda can be terrifying. I never know what's going to come next. I came here just trying to make sure Caindale paid for whatever he's done, if he's really involved in Marie Renee's murder or not. Now I feel like I've just hopped on some merry-go-round that's out of control." 

"Then you understand I can't go back up there." Sher gestured expansively. "What we're getting into is bigger than all of us." 

"We need your help," Nick told her, studying her with a critical eye. Sher was shaking like a shooter with the jones. "I don't know about voodoo, and you seem to. I've never met Duncan MacLeod, but if he's part of the answer to the mystery, I'll go. I don't care what it takes." Nick paused. "He must be someone pretty special if all of you want to rescue him." 

"Yeah," she admitted. "He's a regular Boy Scout." 

"Then whatever you're afraid of is worth the risk, isn't it?" 

Sher cocked her head, considering. "I bet you drive Amanda crazy when you get that logical." She stepped out of the truck as Nick laughed ruefully. 

A few minutes later, Sher trailed Nick into the computer room, and the assembled group began to plan for war. Caly was still trying to narrow down some more information, so the group gathered around her, taking seats or standing around. 

 _If this isn't the rag tag crusaders, I don't know what is,_  Nick thought wearily. He had followed Caindale's lead all the way from Paris, and he was not happy about it. He was tired, he'd taken the red eye, and of course, he hadn't stopped at his hotel after he'd dropped his bags off, so he was wearing the same old crumpled clothes he'd slept in on the plane. But of course, all the name of the job. 

 _Or in being a Crusader_ , he thought sarcastically, as he watched the small group of mismatched people gather and take places, ready to plan and organize. 

 _This time, you are so far out of your league you're not even playing the same game_ , Nick mused.  _So baseball metaphors are a little inappropriate_. Nick watched Kelly pick her nails with a knife, and wondered just what the hell he'd gotten into. At least Amanda wasn't so outright...violent. Sage was a little wild, and Sher was flighty enough to float on the ground. Of course he already knew Joe, and the other watcher was too easy to forget, even as he and Caly hacked and bit into the cyber world via keyboard. 

Amanda graced him with a smile as she folded herself into a chair, crossing her legs. He sighed.  _Lady, you have plunged me into a crazy ass place_ , he told her mentally. 

"Okay," Richie announced, "now that everyone's here, how are we going to do this?" 

"We have to split up," Kelly pointed out. "We have multiple targets, and it would be pretty obvious if all of us went in at once." 

"What do we have to investigate?" Nick asked. "I know we have Caindale's penthouse, but is there anything else?" 

"Yes!!" Caly shouted excitedly. She jumped out of her chair and did a small dance. At least, she started to. The chair shot out, and caught Kelly solidly. Off balance, Kelly landed in Methos's lap. A noticeably awkward moment ensued as Methos didn't immediately let her go. 

Into the breach, Amanda spoke. "What did you find, Caly?" 

"I had Roger run a check against the name of the resort in Jamaica. "Seems Parrot's Paradise owns a potato chip factory here in Seacouver, plus, I've got a lock on a warehouse. Don't ask me to explain the convoluted twists and turns I took to find that one." 

"So we need to check out three targets," Joe remarked. 

"What good is a potato chip factory?" Roger wondered. 

"It's the perfect cover," Kelly interjected, rising finally from Methos's lap to push Caly's chair back. 

"You can hide weapons in the heavy equipment orders," Nick explained. Eyeing Kelly warily, he asked, "How did you know that, Kelly?" 

"Because I've done it," she answered simply. 

He looked at her, not sure if he really wanted to know the story behind that statement, and deciding he was going to skip it for now. 

"Okay, so I'm going to check out the factory," Nick declared. "The weapons will probably be there, and maybe this voodoo doctor has MacLeod there as well." 

"I'll go with you," Sher decided. 

"I second that," Sage agreed, so eagerly that Amanda glared at her again. For her part, Sher smirked, and then pointed to her pocket. Sage nodded and lifted three fingers. 

Nick figured that for all the wagering they did, the two had managed to figure out a silent form of betting. He guessed Sher had made the bet, and Sage had set the amount. As to what they were betting on...he wasn't sure he wanted to actually know that. It might take some of the fun out of it. 

"Wait a minute," Richie interjected. "If you're going to the factory, you're going to need me." 

"Then I'm not going," Sher said stubbornly. 

"Look, you might know a couple things I never got a chance to try with my Quickening, Sher, but you can't feel Caindale's magic like I can." Richie looked nearly as uncomfortable as Sher did. 

Sher raised an eyebrow, and muttered something under her breath about 'fucking puppies and dead ass bastards', and Nick decided he didn't want to know anything about that either. 

"He's got a point," Methos said firmly. "And we don't have time to argue about this, Sher. If Mac's anywhere near Caindale, I don't want to think about what tricks the bastard's doing to him." The man fixed a stern gaze on Sher, who glanced at Richie, shuddered visibly, and looked pale. 

Sage crossed over to her. "Don't worry, Sher," Sage told her. "I'll keep between you two." She tilted her head. "Of course, if this is some trick to get me to lose the bet, you'll be in real trouble." 

Sher nodded her acceptance. Swallowing, she looked at Methos. "That takes care of the factory. We still have the penthouse and the warehouse to deal with." 

"I'll check out the penthouse," Joe volunteered. "Might have some more information there." 

"Take Caly and Roger with you," Methos suggested. "I doubt Caindale would be there; it's too obvious we'd go looking for him there first. Sis, you've got a laptop ready, right?" 

Caly grinned at him and waved the laptop at him, narrowly missing hitting Richie's head. He ducked just in time, grimacing. Nick thought he heard him mutter something like, "Wish I'd done that before." 

"Amanda, Kelly and I will check out the warehouse," Methos decided. 

When Kelly looked ready to protest, he stopped her by saying, "Amanda's better at breaking into places than you are, Kelly." 

Everyone pretended not to notice he made no explanation of why he wanted Kelly with him instead of the factory, though Nick saw Sage slip a ten-dollar bill to Sher.  _How do they keep track of everything they have bets on?_ / Nick wondered idly. This group of Immortals was turning out to be rather...interesting. 

Sage leaned into his arm and smiled up at him.  _Great_ , who was he supposed to let win this bet? 

"Sage, Richie is creeping closer to me," Sher moaned pathetically. 

Nick saw a flash of irritation pass over Sage's face before she shook her head and let go of his arm. She traipsed to Richie and pushed him away from Sher. "Not yet, Curly," she told the young man. 

Methos took a deep breath. "Everyone ready?" 

Amanda spoke. "Are you sure you don't want one of us with Joe, Caly and Roger?" 

Methos shook his head. "I don't think Mac's there, but we need to get information. Who better than a few Watchers?" He grinned cynically. "Besides, I know Joe and Caly are armed." 

"Come on," Nick urged. "Time's wasting." His sharp eyes didn't miss the further wagering going on amongst Amanda, Sage, Sher, and Richie.  _Damn, what else was there going on to wager about?_  He promised himself he would find out what bets were on...as soon as they were on their way. 

With that, the clan broke to find their leader.


	3. Chapter 3

Joe, Caly and Roger took Caly's Jeep to the penthouse, after borrowing a lock picker's tool from Amanda. The access elevator to the penthouse was, fortunately, not locked, though the front door was. Everything was going smoothly until Roger stepped into the bedroom...and discovered the cat.

His sneeze was loud enough to echo through the entire suite...and set off an alarm.

It didn't take long for the police to arrive. In the confusion of the arrest, no one noticed the two burly men who slipped out the back door of the apartment building, an unconscious male body between them, and loaded their cargo into a waiting black van. Their task complete, the men stepped into the van and shut the door.

 

* * *

Sher drove Lucy the monster truck like a madwoman. Sage slouched in the passenger's seat beside her, since Nick and Richie had been banished to the backseat. That Lucy actually had a back seat was pretty impressive, but it was uncomfortable, especially to two males, one of who was over six feet. Sher had refused Richie the passenger seat, and the seat behind her, placing him as far from her as possible in the confined area. Sher eyed him every ten seconds. Nick, however, had been relegated to the back seat for an obviously greedier reason: Sher liked winning bets.

"Sher, Sher, Sher — **TURN DOWN THE MUSIC**!" Nick shouted over a remix of Korn's "Freak On A Leash". Sher complied by turning the volume down a whole two notches and lighting a cigarette while she tried to drive down the road. Lucy swerved, and Sher caught the wheel just in time to avoid the guardrail.

Nick clutched his hands and muttered, "We're not all Immortal, you know."

Sher glanced at Richie, who was staring at her. "Oh, Ah know that," she commented.

Richie rolled his eyes. "So we check out the factory, snag some salt n' vinegar chips, and look out for Mac. And if we find him, we spring him, right?" he asked.

"That be the plan, Cap'n, aye," Sage grunted, rifling through Sher's tapes and selecting Heather Nova's Siren album. "Ooooh!" She popped the tape in and turned the volume up. The track was "I'm the Girl". Sage shook her head. "Methos hates this song."

Sher tilted her head. "I'd wondered about that," she mused. "Are we still on for that capital wager?"

Sage choked on her cigarette smoke, waving her hands. "No, no," she croaked. Despite the slew of betting that was going on, Sage didn't seem to need clarification on _this_ particular bet.

"What capital wager?" Nick asked from the back seat. He wanted in on all the bets that seemed to be exchanging between people.

"Oh, Sher and I made a friendly wager as to who Methos would pick if he had a choice," Sage explained. "It seems we have been spurned for — "

"Mac's honey," Sher sighed. "We always want what we can't have. Ah guess five thousand years ain't changin' that." Quietly, she added to Sage, "Does that bother you as much as it does me?"

Sage stared out the open window. "You have no idea," she muttered so soft Nick almost didn't hear her.

"Lemme see if I have this," Nick drawled. "You two bet that Methos would make a choice between the two of you, and he would, would..."

"Boff," Sage supplied.

"Make the beast with two backs," Sher added and Nick grunted in shock.

The two women snickered, and exchanged money. "Three dollar bonus every time you confuse him," the Texan added. Nick rolled his eyes.

"So what was the cost of the colossal wager?" Richie asked. Sher smiled at him, as if she could overcome the illness that threatened every time Richie did anything that resembled human.

"Oh." Sage grinned and waved a hand of dismissal. "Our firstborns."

Nick burst into hysterical laughter, and Sage slipped Sher another five.

 

* * *

When they reached the factory, the lot was almost empty. Sher pulled into the woods outside of the entrance to the lot, and cut the engine. Sage hopped out of the truck, and left the door open so Richie and Nick could scramble out after her. Sher lit another cigarette and lounged in the seat.

"You coming?" Nick queried before he left the vehicle.

Sher closed her eyes. "Uno momento, big boy," she muttered. She took in several deep breaths. Richie's face appeared in the driver's window, and she shrieked.

"Hey there!" Richie grinned.

 _Probably not the best move he could have made,_ Nick thought in disgust.  Sitting in the back of Lucy, Nick had noticed Richie wincing every time Sher shot a look his way.  Or muttered something under her breath.  Towards the end, Richie had seemed to begin resenting the treatment the Texan was directing towards him.  Instead of cringing, Richie had starting getting pissed, as was evident by his tightened jaw and set lips.

 After cursing quite colorfully in rich Texas slang that Nick didn't fully comprehend, Sher threw her lit cigarette at Richie, grazing his hair.

"Hey!" Richie snapped indignantly, jumping back from the truck.

"Do not frighten me," she told him. "I do not react well to fear." Her eyes were dead and hard, and Nick didn't even doubt her for a second.

"All right, play time is over," Sage told them both, and Sher crawled out of the truck. "I'm going to go in and take a look, then we'll go from there."

Nick started to protest, but Sher placed a hand on his arm.

"Nick, remember when people used to tell you that age provides experience, and to always trust your elders?" The Texan's eyes glinted with merriment. "Now would be a time to heed that advice."

Nick snatched his arm away, but muttered to himself. Sage did a brusque climb up the wall to the lot, and slipped over the side with a back flip from the top.

Sher smiled. "Gotta love poetry in motion," she remarked. Riche smirked.

There was a long moment of silence, where Sher hummed and leaned against the truck. Richie scuffed his feet on the ground. Nick pondered that a great deal of 'search and rescue' seemed to be waiting.

Richie tried conversation. "So, uh, Sher, when did you meet Methos?"

Sher's reply was light. "Well, it was... October, two years ago, I think. > In Paris. He was my  teacher. Kinda. Sorta. And then things got a little wonky," she muttered.

Nick bit back a comment about the obliqueness of her reply just as Richie leaned against the truck, next to Sher. Even Nick knew this was a bad idea.  The woman seemed deathly afraid of Richie, and shortening the gap between the two of them was almost assuredly going to result in either violence or retching.  Sher propelled herself away from him as if she had been pushed. Richie's face contorted into one of anger suddenly, and the shit hit the fan.

"I have had it." Richie yanked Sher back and pressed his palms into her shoulders, her back flat against the side of the truck. "What *is* your problem, Lady?"

Nick paused, thinking that he might have to break them up.  Then he reconsidered.  Maybe if Sher faced Richie, some of her fright at his appearance would leave her.  Stranger things, he figured, had certainly happened, especially tonight.

Sher's eyes widened, and she struggled to get free. Richie's grip was firm and he used all of his weight to hold the Texan down.

"Don't — " she choked, then gasped for air. Her hands cleaved into his wrists coming up with chunks of skin. No healing ensued. Sher seemed to find this worse, because she made a terrible screeching noise, and Richie let go, staring at the flesh hanging from his arms.

"What the hell is happening to me?" he whispered.

Sher vomited in the grass. Nick made a face, and felt nauseated. She had taken a good chunk out of him literally. There was no blood.

Sage chose that moment to return as Richie lapsed into shock, and Sher gagged into the bushes. Nick felt sheepish and tried to look like an innocent bystander.

"Well, I think the coast is clear — what the hell is going on here?" Sage demanded. She hurried to the heaving woman and held Sher's sides as she retched. Nick retrieved a box of Kleenex from the car and handed it to the two women.

"Richie had a little temper-tantrum, and then she freaked," the ex-cop temporized. "Then she kinda hurt him, and here we are."

"Yeah," Sher said between breaths.  "Here we are.  Yippee ky yay." 

Sage closed her eyes briefly, wishing that she'd been able to overcome her need to see Methos and had instead stayed home with her cat.  She knew, for a damn fact, that Mitzy was not a zombie.

 _Maybe now is not the best time to play "shoulda, coulda, woulda" Sage_ , she told herself firmly, as she heard Richie whimper.

Still kneeling beside Sher, Sage stole a glance at Richie's arms. _Ouch, this does not bode well_ , she thought.

Sage didn't know much about voodoo, and she knew nothing about zombies. Sher knew.  Sage wondered if she should be following the other woman's example.  She stared at Richie.  He was just so...harmless.  Wasn't he?

Sher muttered under her breath. "He's not an Immortal anymore," she told Sage quietly. "He'll fall apart. In three days we'll have to carry him around in a garbage bag."

Sage watched Richie rub the gaps on his wrists where flesh should have been. "Then we'll have to work fast. Can he be killed?" she asked Sher, who stared at Richie.

"No. He'll have to be put back into the earth," she said quietly. "Even if he's so much flesh and that, he'll have to be laid to rest in ritual."

"Can you do that?" Sage whispered sotto voce to the Texan as she helped her up. "Or will Caindale have to do it?"

"I don't know," Sher answered.  Her face was paler then normal, and her eyes ringed with the kind of shock and terror that only true fright could provide.  Sage wondered what she had seen in Texas to scare her so much now. "But Caindale can call him against his will. We may have to kill him."

Sage considered Richie again. "Then we really do have to work fast," she murmured.

* * *

Amanda drove in stony silence. Kelly groused to herself in the passenger seat; Methos slouched in the backseat. Kelly's hair tumbled over the seat, and he could almost touch it. He almost did. His hand started to move, and then —

 _No. What are you doing? She and Mac are an item._ Methos almost scoffed at the thought. Kelly and Mac might be in love, but they fought like hellcats.

 _What am I going to do with her? What am I going to do with myself?_ Methos bit his lip, and glanced at Amanda. The woman was silent, almost grim. For all that she loved Mac, she wasn't with him, and she sure as hell wasn't totally devoted to him. Nick was proof of that.

It's almost as if Mac has women that are never truly his, Methos thought wryly. _Then again..._ Methos remembered his conversation with Sher before they had split into separate cars...

_"Aaham," the Texan whispered. "Playing with fire, boy."_

_"I am not. She's a good friend."_

_"Uh HUH...pull the other one and it plays 'Dixie'."_

_"Sher — " but she had surged to him, and kissed his cheek. Her scent enveloped him again, and he had to close his eyes. Damn her and Sage, they were like past reminders. They were both such moving forces in his life. Even now, Sage was grinning at him knowingly from the passenger's side of Sher's mammoth truck. Sage, he knew, was totally aware of what was going on._

_"Careful, careful," Sher chided, and winked. "I owe Sage ten bucks again," she sighed. "Later, Mentor mine."_

_Then she spun away, over to Richie and Nick, leaving him to be yanked into the sports coupe Amanda had rented by a very agitated Kelly._

Methos sighed and slouched further in the chair. This little weekend of get-togethers was a disaster. Why am I falling for Kelly?

His voice of self-preservation snorted.

 _She's mortal, she can take care of herself, she's not yours, she's gorgeous,_ it answered. _Pick one._

Methos watched Kelly lean her head against the window. _Why can't everything be simple?_ he mused. _I shouldn't answer that._

Amanda stopped the car, and turned to the backseat. "We're here."

* * *

_> In a police car headed towards the station house...._  

"Oh, this just majorly fucking sucks the big fucking one," Caly griped loudly from the backseat of the squad car. She was behind the driver, Roger was next to her, and Joe was behind the passenger seat.

The officers winced. "Watch your mouth," one of them ordered her.

Caly stiffened and glared at the back of his head. When she opened her mouth to curse again, Joe reached across Roger and whacked her in the leg with his cane.

"Shut up, Caly," he hissed. "We're in enough trouble as it is!"

"And whose fault is that?" she demanded to know. "I'll tell you who's damned fault it is. It's the fault of Mr. > Why-should-I-bother-to-take-allergy-medication-even-though-it's-sold-in-every-damned-drugstore-in-the-city."

Roger bristled at that. "It's not like I _knew_ I'd come across a cat today," he defended himself.

This didn't relieve him of fault in Caly's eyes, so she elbowed him in the gut and stared out the window. "Can I have a cigarette?" she asked the officers.

"Are you kidding me?" the driver asked in exasperation.

Caly shrugged. "What if I say pretty please with a donut on top?" she ventured hopefully. "Would that work?"

The driver's response was a snort.

They arrived at the station then and the officers let them out of the car. Joe wasn't handcuffed since he needed to maneuver his cane, but Caly and Roger were.

"Listen, can you loosen these fucking cuffs?" Caly complained to the officer leading her and the others into the station. "They're digging into my wrists."

"Oh, I'm sooo sorry," the officer said sarcastically. "Next time we'll trim them in fur for you."

"Does your wife know you're into kinky shit or do you have to hire someone to take care of that?" she asked him with a sneer.

Joe hit her with his cane again, and Roger looked like he wished he'd been assigned to Sher's group.

"I swear, Dawson," Caly hissed, "if you hit me with that thing one more time I'm going to knock you to the ground and beat you over the head with it!"

"Enough!" the officer yelled. "Not another word from you, lady!"

"Oh, shove it up your ass and tie it in a bow," Caly retorted.  She didn't really care anymore.  Her shirt was riding up, and she hadn't had a cigarette in about an hour.  Plus, the assholes had towed her jeep. > Caly decided it was time for a swearing bend the likes of which the Seacouver PD had never seen.  She opened her mouth, and was intercepted by the younger Watcher's voice.

"She's got Tourette's," Roger explained pitifully. "She, uh, can't help herself..."

The officers rolled their eyes and brought them to a holding cell.

Roger and Joe were put together, and Caly was down the hall by herself, in another cell. There was a really creepy guy across from her. He was drooling a lot and staring at her as he played with the strings of spittle from his mouth.

"Oh, no fucking way am I staying here!" she told the officers. "Get me away from him, now."

They stared at her and she squirmed. Yeah, right. She wasn't exactly in a position to be making demands. Not when she'd been caught red-handed, as it were. "Well, okay, this is fine," she muttered. "But, I want my damned phone call. Now."

"In a minute," one of the cops said. "We just have to process you first."

With that, they were gone, leaving her sulking and glaring at Drool Man. > He grinned at her hopefully. "You can make pretty sculptures with saliva," he sang out.

"Roger Patterson!" Caly screeched. "You are going to pay for this!"

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Sage, Sher, Nick and the soon-to-be-decaying Richie climbed the wall to the factory. Actually, Sher and Nick climbed it, while Sage tried to help Richie make the trip without losing any more flesh.

It grossed her out. Big time. But she was the only one who would do it. Sher was still nauseous and Nick was just waaaaayyy out of his league with the voodoo addition to the fiasco.

 _Who the hell isn't?_ Sage thought as she laid stomach-down on the wall and hoisted Richie up by his armpits. She knew there was probably skin flaking form the area she was grabbing, and she almost heaved on the poor kid's face. _Oh, damn. At least I can't see it._

"Thanks," Richie muttered. He was looking a tad bit ill, more than a bit guilty and decidedly morose.

Sage sighed and stopped him when he would have jumped down to the ground.

"Curly, this isn't your fault. Not by a long shot," she told him seriously. "If anything, the blame is Amanda's for messing with shit she shouldn't have. Hell, she's been alive long enough to know better."

Richie shrugged and wouldn't meet her eyes. "Sher — "

"Sher knows this isn't your fault," Sage interjected. "Her reaction wasn't to you, but to the magic. That's all."

Richie ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. "Sage, if anything happens to Mac, I don't know what I'll do."

Sage resisted the urge to tell him that in three days he wouldn't be in the shape to do much of anything, so instead she laughed and put an arm around his shoulder. She figured he needed to feel like he was at least partly human. And he was. Very partly.

"Curly, think about the group we've got assembled to find him," she advised him. "Do you _think_ any of us would allow something to happen to him?"

Richie chuckled reluctantly. "You're right."

"Hurry up!" Nick called out. "Someone might see you up there."

"Let's get to this," Sage said and lowered Richie down from the wall. > Then she stood up and called out to Nick, "Hey, Nicky, check this out!"

She did a double back flip off the wall, and added a saucy little twist just for fun. She landed firmly and looked at Nick expectantly.

He grinned. "A perfect ten," he admitted. Sage looked pleased and smiled sweetly at him. //Oh, he's a hottie, this one is.//

Sher smiled around a grimace. "I give it a nine. You got too ambitious with that half twist."

They started making their way carefully through back lot, filled with delivery trucks. Sher led the way. Sage was next, and was holding Nick's arm. Richie brought up the rear.

"It's a good thing you weren't the one I asked then," Sage joked to Sher.

Sher looked over her shoulder at the other woman and rolled her eyes when she noticed the firm grip Sage had on Nick. "Capital wager?" she asked.

Sage looked at Nick, then at Sher, and shrugged. "I rather like the thirty buck wager we have."

Nick sighed. "Gamblers Anonymous? Ever hear of them?" he asked.

They arrived at the back of the factory and stared at the large loading doors in front of them.

"There should be an employee entrance," Sher mused. "Standard door."

"Around the corner of the building," Richie volunteered. "I used to work part-time at a scissors factory," he explained. "Same kind of set up."

Sage winked. "Can you get us in there, oh prince of the misspent youth?"

"I can," he admitted.

They found the door right where Richie said it would be and he got them in  pretty fast. Once Nick had rounded up a stray piece of wire from the parking lot, that is.

"Ooh, Curly," Sage laughed. "You got me all hot and bothered doing that."

"Oh, hork," Sher muttered blackly.

"I don't know what hork means," Nick added, "but I think I agree."

Sage turned up her nose and hit Sher's forehead with her palm. "I am not someone to be 'horked' at, young'un."

They stepped inside and were overwhelmed by the smell of various potato chip flavors. "Salt and vinegar," Richie murmured. "Oh, those are good."

"Barbecue," Sage disagreed. "The hot kind that burns your mouth."

Moving slowly, they delved deeper into the factory, glad that no one was working at this time of night.

"I like the ruffled kind," Nick said and pointed towards the plexi-glass enclosed office at the back of the building.

"What about you, Sheree?" Sage asked.

"Sour cream and onion," Sher replied, preoccupied with crates at the far wall. "And what did I say about calling me that?"

Sage waved a hand. "I dunno. Something about my getting trampled by a herd of horses while you watched and applauded. I wasn't really paying much attention."

Richie and Nick snickered.

"Don't mind her," Sher said sweetly. "She's just upset because she knows you're not available," she told Nick.

Nick looked at Sage with wide eyes and she shrugged, not bothering to deny the truth. Then she reached forward and yanked a handful of Sher's hair. The Texan just gave into the pull, a lazy smile on her face. > "You're such a bitch. Must be why we get along so well."

They reached the office and entered.

"So," Richie drawled, looking around the cluttered room. "Where do we start?"

* * *

"Well," Kelly declared in reaction to Amanda's announcement of their arrival, "time to get moving." She reached over and shut off the radio, which had been playing Moody Blues' "The Other Side of Life." She popped open her door as her companions followed suit. She thought she felt Methos's hand brush her hair, but dismissed it as being the result of him having to push the seat forward in order to climb out of the two-door sport coupe.

The parking lot of the warehouse was deserted, which didn't surprise any of them. Amanda popped the trunk and began pulling out her bag of gear. Kelly grabbed her backpack from the trunk as well, and set it on the hood. Methos watched as she pulled out a handgun big enough to take down a woolly mammoth, strapped on an ammunition pouch, then walked back over to where Amanda stood waiting and tossed the backpack back into the trunk.

Amanda noticed the handgun, aware that Kelly still wore the knife she'd cut Mac with earlier. She surmised that Methos had another weapon besides his sword hidden somewhere on his person, but she was surprised to see that Kelly came equally prepared for danger. _No wonder he's attracted to her,_ she mused.

"Planning on hunting an elephant?" she quipped to Kelly.

"If need be," Kelly responded calmly. "Come on, time's wasting," she urged, echoing Nick's earlier comment.

Amanda exchanged looks with Methos as she shut the trunk.

In silence, they crossed the short distance from the parking lot to the nearest entrance. Thanks to Amanda's gear, they easily broke into the warehouse.

"Open sesame," Amanda wisecracked as she pushed open the door.

"Show-off," Kelly told her, but there was grudging admiration in her voice.

Amanda grinned, her teeth flashing white in the semi-darkness. She hoped that the respect she heard meant that Kelly wasn't that angry with her anymore.

Methos rolled his eyes and stepped into the warehouse. Moonlight streamed through the high glass windows, making their flashlights almost unnecessary, but there were still enough shadows that their eyes took a minute to adjust.

"I'm going to check out the office," Kelly told them, and vanished into the gloom before Methos or Amanda could disagree.

Boxes were stacked on wooden pallets, and there was a faint odor of something burnt. As the pair crept through the stacks of pallets, they saw that a space in the center of the warehouse had been cleared. > Candles, once burnt but now unlit, were placed at the four corners of the cleared space.

Both Immortals recognized the signs of a completed ritual. The sensation of having stepped into another world was strong. Amanda hadn't felt that kind of power in centuries and realized she had indeed messed with something she shouldn't have. She was suddenly glad that her long coat concealed the goosebumps on her flesh, and wondered what Methos was thinking.

As her usual habit, she concealed her nervousness by talking. "Well, I guess we know where Caindale raised Richie from the dead," she commented, her voice low. "Wonder why he did it here and not in Paris, where Richie was buried."

"I want to know how he got ahold of Richie's body in the first place, " Methos muttered.  "It had to be in several pieces, and..."  He shook his head.  "It doesn't matter, we still need to search the rest of this place."

Amanda nodded her agreement. "Mac's not here. I don't feel him." She looked at Methos, seeking confirmation.

"Not unless he's dead," Methos replied. He glanced at the ceremonial area again, and felt real fear. "Did you even check this guy out before you decided to have him raise Richie from the dead?" he hissed.

Amanda had the grace to look sheepish. "I didn't think he was really going to be able to do it," she excused herself.   She could almost see the words form in a little bubble over Methos's head:  It was 'so why did you even look into it?'

She knew why.  Even if she hadn't believed that Caindale could raise Richie, some sad little girl in her thought that if he could, if he could somehow accomplish the impossible, then maybe she could turn back time, and her little 'clan' could be whole again.  It had been a foolish thought, but she couldn't resist giving in to that little child.

Uncomfortable with the situation, she decided to change the subject. "What the hell is going on with you and Kelly?"

"Nothing," the denial came quickly. Too quickly, and Amanda's eyes narrowed with speculation.

"Keep telling yourself that, old friend," Amanda chuckled. "You just might make yourself believe it."

Just then, a thunderous gunshot boomed, and Amanda watched as Methos's face went white.

"Kelly," he whispered. Then he took off running, leaving Amanda to catch up.

They found Kelly standing over the body of a bear-like male dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a windbreaker emblazoned with the name of a security firm. She seemed to be favoring her right leg, and stood awkwardly as a result. Amanda didn't dare turn the corpse over, knowing she'd find a bloody mess where the man's chest had been.

"I see you found your elephant," Amanda greeted Kelly, eyeing the corpse with a considering glance. Kelly lowered the gun she had pointed at them, not knowing if their footsteps were friend or foe, and cleared the spent cartridge casing.

"You okay?" Methos asked Kelly a second after Amanda spoke, going to her side and putting an arm around her.

Amanda hid a smile at his action, and wondered how she was going to get out of paying Sher on the bet she'd just lost. //Then again, there **was** that side bet about Sage and Nick...I just might break even.//

"Yeah," Kelly answered to both Amanda and Methos. Her eyes glittered with the rush of adrenaline. "Hit my knee on the damn desk in the office, though. That's what woke up Sleeping Beauty here." Kelly gestured to the corpse.

"Find out anything?" Amanda inquired, trying to ignore how Methos was busily trying to check out Kelly's knee for damage. Kelly's tattered jeans were certainly threadbare enough in the knees to make a diagnosis easier, but Methos seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in being able to touch Kelly.

"Just a bruise," Methos diagnosed.

Kelly sighed exasperatedly. "I could've told you that."

Methos rose to his feet and looked mildly annoyed. "So what did you do after you hurt yourself?"

Kelly smiled, and Amanda recognized the look. It was a look that said, "I can charm anybody, anytime", and one that Amanda knew well. Suddenly, she had no doubt that Kelly had charmed her way out of a bad situation, then had shot her informant.

"Sleeping Beauty was _most_ informative. He said Mac was at the penthouse."

Methos swore, realizing he'd miscalculated. "We'd better find Joe, Caly, and Roger, then."

Just then, Methos's cell phone rang.  Methos flipped the phone on annoyedly, and Amanda leaned in to listen to the caller.

"I am going to kill Roger Patterson," a female voice announced on the other end. "Do you know how fucking long it took for me to get one lousy fucking call?"

"Caly," Methos sighed in relief. "I take it this means you're okay?"

"No, I am not fucking okay. I am in jail with Drool Man. Get me out of here, Bro. Oh, and Joe's here too, but you can leave Roger behind."

"What happened?"

"We were checking out the penthouse, and Mr. I-Didn't-Take-Medication-Because-I-Didn't Think-I'd-Need-It sneezed. Next thing we know, we're being fucking arrested."

Methos couldn't help himself; he laughed.   Amanda covered her mouth with her hand and giggled.  Kelly just looked pissed off.

"This is **not** funny," Caly insisted. Then she paused. "Okay, so maybe it is a little, but you have to get me out of here."

"You're safer there in jail," Methos decided. "Caindale has Mac at the penthouse, and we're headed over there."

"No!" Caly protested. "I can't stand it here!"

Methos winced as Caly cursed him out. He hung up the phone and looked at his partners. "We'd better get going over to the penthouse. Caindale had Caly, Joe and Roger arrested, so Mac must be there if they came that close."

"What are we going to do about the body?" Kelly asked, gesturing to the corpse.

"Leave it," Amanda advised. "That gun isn't traceable, is it?"

"Of course not," Kelly said, insulted. "Not to me, anyway. Are any of your tools traceable to you?"

Amanda mocked tipping a hat to Kelly. "No, but I can guess whose name is on yours, and I bet his initials are D.M."

Kelly stared at Amanda a long moment before chuckling in rueful appreciation. "You are something else, Amanda."

"Does this mean I'm forgiven for sending that Immortal your way?" Amanda asked hopefully.

Still chuckling, Kelly shook her head. "No."

"I hate to interrupt your bonding moment," Methos observed dryly, "but we have somewhere to go."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah," she said, following him out of the warehouse, Kelly close behind, "we get the picture."

* * *

"Ah just thought of something," Sher mused as their motley crew rifled through the factory office. Sage stopped humming a Beach Boys song and looked up expectantly. "Aaham and Kelly can't be an item. She has a normal name."

Sage rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's grasping at straws." She fished a crumpled ten out of her pocket and handed it to Nick. "You were right, insanely jealous," she told the ex-cop.

Sher gave them the finger and dug into the closet again.

"Finish this lyric," Sage murmured, returning to her pile of invoices. "'Something tells me I'm into something...'"

"Shit," Richie muttered. "This is getting us nowhere fast!" He threw the files he'd been examining onto the desk, and ran a hand through his hair, coming away with a few more strands than usual.

Sage frowned. "Not what I was looking for, but apropos to the situation," she mused.

Nick rolled his chair over to the desk and laid out a file. "Check these out; shipment orders."

Sage and Richie gathered around, examining the paper in front of them.

"Do we ship potato chips to Yugoslavia?" Richie asked.

"'Red Hot Mesquite Barbecue', apparently," Sage said softly, pointing to the form. "Yeah, Nuclear Red Hot, maybe."

"Shipping weapons from here," Nick stated aloud. "Kelly said it's been done. And there's a war in Yugoslavia."

"That ain't all," Sher told them, throwing a bunch of unrolled city maps on top of the invoices on the desk. She grimaced. "Paris, Belfast, Belgrade, Seacouver, Cardiff, Kingston. All places Caindale's been."

Sage examined the maps, all white city layouts, highlighted in yellow. She pointed to the brightly colored areas. "What is so interesting about these places?"

Sher grinned, but it was a sick one. "Graveyards. Our boy's been raising a lot more than Richie, here. He's raisin' Hell."

Everyone ignored the joke.

"I don't get it," Richie said as he picked up a map. "Why raise the dead?"

No one had an answer to that.

Nick read the invoice a little more closely. "Hey, check this: he charged them two million for the shipment, but an additional three million for installation and distribution fees. What the hell does he have to install?"

"Zombies," Sher whispered. Her eyes lit up, and she cracked her knuckles repeatedly.  "Oh shit, that's brilliant. Sick, but brilliant."

"No way," Nick muttered. "What for?"

"Expendable foot soldiers." Sher's eyes became bright, like when she was wound up about explaining a theoretical point. Before anyone could react, she snatched a letter opener from the desk tray and stabbed Richie in the shoulder. The resurrected Immortal yelped.

"*Hey*!" he screamed. "Hey — oh, that doesn't hurt." Richie looked at his shoulder incredulously.

Sher wiggled the letter opener back and forth in Richie's arm. It made little squelching noises through the fabric. "That's 'cause you're dead," she said soberly.

"Sher, please — " Nick interjected, feeling a little nauseated himself.

Sher smirked and removed the metal file from Richie's arm. There was no blood.

"Stop the fucking press — " Sage threw another invoice in front of Nick. "When did Marie Renee die?"

Nick had to think for a second. Sher and Richie edged closer to the desk and each other. "About three months ago," he finally decided. "There was a huge tribute to her in the London Times. She did Shakespeare at the new Globe Theatre," he told them.

"Lookee here." Sage pointed to a signature on the invoice.

Everyone peered in close.

"Five months ago, this is Marie Renee's signature," she said, then pointed to the signature just above it. "That is Ross Caindale's signature."

"And?" Nick asked.

"Look at your invoice from three weeks ago, " Sher told him, catching on to Sage's point.

"Ross Caindale — " Nick stopped, then finished quietly. "In Renee's handwriting."

"Bingo," Sher mewled. She tapped the invoice with one finger.  "How good was Renee's Lady MacBeth?"

"That doesn't mean it's Renee," Richie interjected. "Caindale could have been forging her signature for weeks, no months, before he killed her. Hell, maybe that's why he killed her."

"But why is his different before her death from after? Did he get someone to forge his signature?" Sher tilted her head, and rubbed her neck. "What else do you know about Ms. Renee?" she prodded Nick.

"She was a native of...oh my God, Haiti." His eyes latched onto Sher's, and the Texan nodded. "It could be her," he concluded.

"No way," Richie countered. "There was a man there. I remember a man when I woke up."

"And I just saw Caindale alive three weeks ago," Nick said. "He and Amanda were making plans in the front of the bar after hours." He shook his head. "I should have asked what was going on," he muttered.

"Sooooo we have a might-be-dead lady, and a might-be-dead-but-not-likely Caindale," Sage concluded. She sat on the edge of the desk and ran a hand along Nick's shoulders.  The mortal leaned into her touch.  "Back to square one on the 'who' part. But we know 'from where' and 'what', and 'why'. All we need is 'who' and 'when'."

"I thought this was a hunt for Mac," Richie complained.

Sage snorted. "You don't think weapons shipments are important?" she asked.

"How much do you want to bet that you wouldn't care about this if N-" Sher started, but Sage shot her a withering look, and she reined in her mouth for a second. "Richie, I think there's more to this than Mac. We have to get you squared away, and we can't do that unless we have the one who raised you."

"Until we do," Sage told him. "We're checking out everything we possibly can. What if he packs Mac in one of those crates and ships him off?"

Everyone was silent, listening. Sage knew that Mac wasn't in the factory, else both she and Sher would have felt him by now.

"That's it," Sher muttered. "It's felony time." She grabbed a fire axe from the far wall of the office and stormed out of the room, heading for the crates on the factory floor.

Nick rolled his eyes. "We already had felony time," he told Sage. "Now it's misdemeanor time."  He scrambled out of his chair and jogged the last few steps to precede Sage from the office.

Sage snickered. "Why can't it ever just be Miller Time?"

They sprinted after the hyperactive Texan, Richie in tow.

Sher applied the axe to all four corners of a large crate marked 'perishable', and the rest of the group pried off the lid.

Sher stared at the bags of potato chips.

Richie laughed. "Betcha can't eat just one," he said simply, and her mouth quirked up a little. She seemed to be getting used to 'dead Richie'.   Which in Sage's opinion, was all for the better.

"Ah, but would you want to?" Sher asked as Nick removed the bags of chips from the top and exposed neat rows of AK-47s. "Bingo again."

They opened another crate; this one reeked. "*Damn*!" Sage covered her mouth and nose with her hand. "What is that smell?"

Nick almost gagged, and Richie looked unaffected and worried about his own reaction.

Sher tossed the bags of rippled potato chips aside. "That would be mandrake, chicken feet, valerian and dried goat blood," she told them, gesturing to the herbs in plastic bags and dozens of dried chicken feet, still slathered with blood.

"How do you _know_ this stuff?" Richie grunted.

Everyone tried to ignore the fact that they had just been confronted with the flesh and blood ingredients that had been used to resurrect Richie. They tried to ignore that reality that Richie was really dead. This crate just served as staunch and eerie reminder of what had been done to animate him, if only for a week or so.

Sher toyed with a chicken foot before answering. "Let's just say that I grew up around it, and leave it at that," she said softly. "I'd say we have a winner folks. Caindale's raising a mercenary army. Literally."

"Or Renee is," Sage corrected.

"Well, this is great," Nick moaned. "Who has the cellular? We should call the other groups."

Sher fished a phone out of her pocket and handed it to Sage. The Immortal woman dialed and was waiting for Methos to answer when Sher and Richie froze.

"Shit," they said in unison.

"What?" Sage asked. She didn't feel anything.

"They're coming," Sher answered. "Come on, we gotta bolt — "

Everyone dashed for the nearest door. Richie rattled it, to no avail.

"Padlocked from the outside," he hissed.

They turned in unison to go out back the way they had come in, but there was a rumble and the back loading doors began to roll upwards. There was no way they could make it to the door without being seen by whoever was coming in.

They all sprang into action. Richie dove into the big funnel used for sorting and hung off the inside rim. Nick climbed the scaffolding on the raw walls and sank into the shadows of the rafters. Sage headed up too, but in a different direction, and towards the skylight. She perched on a rail and wished Methos to answer his phone. Sage watched Sher slide into an enclosed space in the conveyor belt. The girl tucked her feet in and closed the mechanic's door. As long as they didn't start the belt, she'd be all right.

It was right about then that Sage felt a new Presence entering the area. Whatever evil had freaked out Sher and Richie had obviously brought Mac with them.

A large black Rolls Royce slid into the factory floor, and the door began to shut. The stereo pumped out music, and Sage groaned. "Come on, asshole, pick up...."

* * *

Sher's teeth chattered and she curled into a ball. She hummed along with the music:

"You remind me of the babe,"  
"What babe?"  
"The babe with the power."  
"What power?"  
"Power of voodoo."  
"Who do?"  
"You do."  
"Do what?"  
"Remind me of the babe."

Methos angrily answered the phone as he did sixty miles over the speed limit on the freeway. Kelly was in the backseat, and Amanda was yelling at him from the passenger's seat. It would be so easy to open her door and kick her out at 123 miles an hour. It's not like she wouldn't survive....

"Yeah?" he asked testily, thinking it would be Caly.  She was just gonna have to sit her little butt down on that jail bench and wait—

"Hey, Methos," Sage whispered. He could barely hear her around some loud kind of music, a tinny David Bowie.

"Sage?" he shouted. The wind on his end wasn't helping either. "What? I can barely hear you!"  Amanda and Kelly seemed to perk to attention when they heard who was on the other end.

"Listen fast," Sage said quickly. "We're at the factory. We got problems. We're trapped in here, and they're planning to ship the weapons from here. They have enough hoodoo shit to raise Les Innocents, Methos, and they're gonna do it. You gotta get here."

"Sage? What the hell do you mean? Raise what? Mac's at the penthouse, we're on our way there," he almost shouted.

"No, Methos, no. Mac is here. Get your ass over here, I wouldn't want you to miss all this fun."

The connection went dead, and Methos stared at the phone. He threw it at Amanda and made a U-turn on the freeway. Amanda screeched.

"Methos! What the bloody hell??!?"

"Change of plans," he told her as he gritted his teeth and jumped the median.

The sirens behind them started two seconds after Methos hit one forty, and Kelly cursed from the back seat.

"Good one, Richard Petty!"

Amanda looked frantic. Methos widened his eyes. "Do NOT tell me this is stolen," he begged her. "You said it was rented!"

Amanda shrugged. "Think of it this way," she chirped. "We'll see Joe and Caly!"

Kelly swore another blue streak, and Methos raised an eyebrow. "Out run them. Start accelerating...now."

Methos pressed the pedal to the floor, and they almost went into warp speed.

* * *

> At the precinct,  
Caly was fuming. There was no other word for it. Joe glanced at her and shook  
his head. It didn't bode well at all when she got quiet and still. Especially  
when her jaw was clenched so tightly that she could have split a jawbreaker in  
half without really trying.

Methos had hung up on her. Her curse-ridden tirade at the receiver had been the last straw for the officers. They'd moved her into a different holding cell. One that was within spitting distance of the slobbering wreck she'd nicknamed Drool Man. The officer on duty had told her that if she could last half an hour without cursing again, then she could get another phone call.

Roger had offered to make a call instead, but Caly had nixed that idea, saying her NSA contacts were needed in this situation. So she'd sat silently, growing increasingly furious while her jaw ground so loud that Joe could hear it, and waited for the half-hour to come to an end.

Then she'd called NSA, who had sent one of their agents by within twenty minutes. Now they were waiting again, this time for the paperwork to be filled out before they could be released. On her way past Joe and Roger, Caly had snapped out that the NSA were also getting her car out of the impound lot it had been stashed in.

"Wilde! Patterson! Dawson! Up and at 'em," an officer called out.

* * *

From her place by the skylight, Sage watched as a man, presumably Caindale, stepped out of the Rolls.

He was a small man, as far as she could tell from her perspective. Then again, it could just be that the three armed goons and the driver were giants. He seemed dwarfed by them. And he was an albino.

Sage cringed. _Great, wonderful. We're up against a freaking lab rat._

Caindale's odd coloring wasn't helped much by the scarlet red suit he wore, or by the black shirt he had paired with it.

Sage glanced at the phone and insanely racked her brain for the fashion police's phone number. _You've lost it, girl. You've gone and lost your damned mind. All this voodoo crap has just caused your gray matter to melt and seep out of your ears._

Caindale moved towards the broken crates. He touched one gently with a paper-white finger, then lifted his head and laughed — no, he cackled. Sage had never heard a sound more worthy of the term cackle than Caindale's laughter.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Caindale sang.

Sage froze. He might be bluffing... but, she wasn't well versed in voodoo. Maybe he could sense Richie. She muttered under her breath. Damn it. Why hadn't they thought of that? If Caindale had the ability to control Richie, to force Richie to do his bidding, then it only made sense that Caindale would be able to feel Richie.

She didn't know, so she didn't move.

There was a noise from down below, and the door under the conveyor belt opened. Sher unfolded herself from the tight space and stood up. Then she glanced up at them, and waved with one hand, almost sighing.  That was the cue. Sage and Nick began climbing down to the floor. The Presence of another Immortal got stronger the closer Sage got to the car.

Richie was struggling to pull himself out of the funnel and Sage only hoped his limbs wouldn't tear with the strain.

Caindale cackled again, causing all the members of the Potato Chip Factory Search Party to wince.

"Jensen. Pfeiffer. Help the dead one out, will you?" Caindale instructed pleasantly.

Sage and Nick joined Sher while the two goons assisted Richie. They stood in front of Caindale. The driver and the third goon trained their guns on the group.

Glancing at the Texan, Sage saw that Sher was tense, pale and looked like she was about to hurl again. Not a good sign. Nick, on the other hand, was masking his fear with contempt. It was really a pitiful attempt.

Caindale bared his teeth at them. They were small, pointy teeth. Rat teeth to go with the rat coloring. _Hork to the nth degree._

He was as short as she'd thought. In fact, he was hardly much taller than her meager five-foot, four-inch height.

Richie was finally carted downstairs and shoved next to Sher, who blanched even more and jumped away from him. Sage motioned to Richie to come to her other side so she could be a buffer between the two. Nick was on Sher's other side. Caindale grinned.

"Ah, I see that at least one of you is familiar with the wonders I can perform," he drawled.

Sage rolled her eyes. She couldn't help it. Even though she fully understood he was a dangerous guy, she found it impossible to actually take him seriously. Not when he seemed more of a caricature than a person. _Probably not the best reaction to the situation, girl_.

Caindale glared at her and snapped his fingers. The music stopped abruptly.

"And one of you is foolishly disbelieving," Caindale snarled.

Sage shrugged. "Not true. I mean, there *is* a zombie next to me," she retorted. Sher sucked in a breath and smacked her on the back.

"Shut up," Richie and Nick hissed at her.

Sage shut up.

"Wise choice, young lady," Caindale said approvingly. He tilted his head. "What to do with you."

The two goons who had rescued Richie from the funnel reached into the Rolls and dragged out Mac's unconscious form. Sage knew he was unconscious, rather than even temporarily dead, because she could still feel his Buzz.

"Take that one to the second floor," Caindale told the goons without removing his eyes from Sher and the others. "These four you can take to the third floor. I have other pressing matters to attend to before I can give them my full attention. And search them first. I have a feeling they're armed."

The driver and the third goon motioned them towards the back of the factory. They took an elevator to the third floor, where they were searched. Sher's gun and knife were taken. So were both of Nick's guns. > Richie had only his sword, which was taken. From Sage they took both her short swords and a knife.

Once Jensen and Pfeiffer were assured that the prisoners were unarmed, they forced their captives into a tiny room. Tiny was the operative word. It was about fifteen feet by twelve feet. Along one wall was a bench without a back. The rest of the room was empty.

Jensen and Pfeiffer locked the door behind them. The four rescuers looked around the room, then at each other.

"Well," Sher drawled.

"That about says it all," Nick agreed.

* * *

"I am going to kill you, Amanda," Methos growled as he sped down the highway. "Slowly. Painfully. Multiple times. In ways forgotten by man."

"Shut the fuck up and drive!" Kelly shouted from the back seat. She was staring out the back window at the police car. It was fading into the distance, but that didn't mean there weren't others waiting for them up ahead.

"Take the next exit," she instructed him.

"Why?" Amanda asked as she fumbled with her seat belt.

"If we get onto residential streets before the back up cops get us, we can ditch the car," Kelly told her. "Go faster, Methos!"

Methos ground his teeth and maneuvered the car to the right. "I can't go any faster," he insisted. "I'm at maximum velocity."

"Take it to warp nine," Amanda quipped.

"Shut up!" Kelly and Methos snapped at her.

The exit was coming up but Methos couldn't chance slowing down. "Hold on," Methos said grimly. Kelly and Amanda braced themselves just as Methos jerked the wheel and took them into the turn at a hundred and thirty miles an hour.

The sports car tilted precariously onto two wheels. There was a moment of panic shared by the three people in the car as they wondered if the car would roll. Despite not being religious in the least, all three of them prayed.

Someone must have been listening, because the car didn't roll. As they came out of the turn, it settled back onto all four wheels and continued on.

They drove for half a mile before Methos pulled to a stop in front of a darkened house that had a double garage attached to it. Amanda went to work on the garage and had the door open in no time. Kelly and Methos rolled the car into the garage while Amanda played lookout.

The garage already housed a beige Saturn coupe, which Kelly hot-wired. With the headlights off, she pulled onto the street. Methos closed the garage door and studied the house. No lights came on, and he was relieved that they hadn't been detected.

Methos relegated Amanda to the backseat of the car and sat up front with Kelly.

"Well, won't they wake up to a nice surprise?" Amanda giggled.

Both occupants of the front seat gaped at her before cursing in a total of fifteen languages, some dead and some not so dead.

* * *

Caly, Joe and Roger were safely ensconced in Caly's Jeep. Caly hadn't said a word since they'd left the station.

Billy Idol was blaring from the speakers. "Rebel Yell" was on repeat in the CD player and Caly seemed to be driving as fast as the music was playing. They were doing sixty-five in a twenty mile an hour school zone. > Joe was only glad that it was the middle of the night, and not during the day when there would have been kids crossing the streets.

"Er, maybe we should slow down," Roger squeaked loudly from the backseat.

Caly looked back at him and growled, literally growled like a dog, and then faced front again.

Joe was fed up with the music, so he reached out and turned it off. It came back on again. He tried to turn it off again, but the buttons weren't working. He kept pushing them until Caly snapped, "I have a lock on the radio."

"Where are we going?" Joe called out above the music.

"The warehouse," Caly replied blackly. "So I can kick me some Methos ass."

Joe and Roger closed their eyes and prayed for divine intervention, which they got in the form of a flat tire.

Caly twitched again and pulled over. She slammed out of the car and retrieved the spare tire, the tire iron, and the jack from the back of the Jeep. With an economy of motion, and lack of clumsiness that was quite astounding, she got everything set up. The trouble came when she tried to loosen the first lug nut. It wasn't moving.

"Maybe Roger should— " Joe started to say, but Caly growled again.

She braced her right foot on the tire iron and pushed down. It still didn't move. She leaned down a bit to add some more weight, pushed down again, and the lug nut suddenly loosened. Unfortunately, the opposite end of the tire iron smacked her in the face.

Joe cringed, Roger groaned, and Caly, on the ground, howled like a banshee.

* * *

In the tiny room, Sage and Sher were singing.

"And don't forget  
when your elders forget  
to say their prayers  
take them by the legs  
and throw them down the stairs

"Following the footsteps  
of a rag doll dance  
we are entranced  
Spellbound..."


	4. Chapter 4

Sage and Sher had combined their voices to create one of the most terrifying (yet rather easy on the ears) version of Chris Isaac's "Voodoo".

With a frustrated sigh, Nick eyed the available space, realizing it was too narrow to pace. And he really needed to pace. The two Immortal women had been serenading him and Richie for almost an hour and a half. They stopped only long enough to agree on the next song and announce to the men what the next selection was.

It was enough to drive a man insane in record time. It wasn't that they had bad voices; they both sang surprisingly well. It was just that the theme of the songs — magic, voodoo, and every offshoot imaginable — grated on his nerves. It had been amusing at first, considering what they'd become embroiled in, but the amusement had fled after the second song. They were currently on song number fourteen.

Richie didn't seem to be irritated at all. In fact, he was really into it, even if he had been forbidden to sing after he'd wailed out only a single note. Sage had actually flung herself across Sher's body and clamped her hand over the... boy's mouth.

Sher had pretended to violently convulse before telling Richie, "You could kill plants with that voice."

The women finished the latest song, then started tossing out ideas for the next.

 _How the hell do they know all these weird songs, anyway?_ Nick briefly considered asking them exactly that, then decided against it. He didn't know either woman very well, but it was a safe bet to say that any answer he got from them would be sickly humorous in a way that he just wouldn't be able to stomach right then.

Instead, he settled on asking, "Anyone got any bright ideas besides singing the night away?"

No one answered him. Sher and Sage had enlisted Richie's help in choosing the next song, so they couldn't be bothered with him. _Damn them_.

Abruptly, the door opened. Sher had been in the process of flipping a coin to break the song tie, but let it clatter to the floor instead of catching it. Sage and Richie immediately stopped bickering and tensed.

One of Caindale's goons stepped into the room and grabbed Sher, hauling her roughly to her feet. "Caindale wants to see you," the brawn growled.

Sher made a surprised face, and she tugged at her elbow, as if she could recover it. Her captor was about a hundred pounds over on Sher; there was no way in hell she was going to get out of that vice grip, Nick knew.

"Oh, really?" Sher said. Nick wondered if she would be privately relieved to be away from the increasingly foul-smelling Richie. He knew he would be.

Nick glanced over at Richie, who seemed to be getting to his feet without a conscious thought. From the look on Richie's face, it clearly wasn't his choice. Nick had no doubt that Caindale was commanding Richie's movements, and he couldn't suppress the involuntary shiver.

The voice of perversity decided to chime in then. _On the bright side, this means no more singing, and no more deteriorating zombie stench._ Nick winced as guilt followed that thought.

The brawn snickered, obviously amused by his work, as he stepped through the door, Sher in unwilling tow, and Richie close behind. The last thing Nick saw of Richie was his hand pulling the door shut, locking in him and Sage.

Sage stared at the door, her jaw tight and her brows lowered over concerned blue eyes. "Sher is not, absolutely not, going to handle this well," she noted flatly.

Nick moved next to her and slid his arm across her shoulders. Sage shook her head and leaned into him, taking comfort from his strength. It was a long time before either of them moved from that embrace.

 

* * *

Kelly pushed the Saturn to the limit as she navigated through the streets of Seacouver. Methos had turned on the radio to fill the silence that had fallen, and Glenn Frey's "Danger Zone" had instantly poured out of the speakers. That had earned a glare from Kelly, who muttered something about "fucking serendipity", and punched up a country station, to the immediate dissatisfaction of her passengers. Neither Amanda nor Methos was willing to escalate their grumbling about her choice of music into a full-scale debate, however. Both knew that the ex-merc was fully aware of precisely how to permanently kill them.

At last, they arrived at Caindale's factory. A casual drive-by told them that the front gate was manned.

"Well," Methos declared from their position down the street, "we can't very well walk in and play tourist."

Kelly grinned for the first time since Methos had rescued her from being arrested at the Hunt Club. Catching Amanda's gaze in the rearview mirror, she said, "Nothing like seduction and distraction, right, Amanda?"

Amanda preened, and ignored the slight bite Kelly had given the words. "Who wants to be the decoy?" she asked.

"You'd better do it," Methos decided. "You've had more practice."

"Then we'll have to change drivers," Kelly pointed out.

A few minutes later, the details of the plan hashed out, Amanda drove up to the gate and stopped. Kelly was in the passenger seat, more for decoration and temptation than for anything else. Two women were always more of a distraction than one woman.

The guard stepped out of the guardhouse and approached the car. He was a medium-sized man with dark, swarthy features. "I'm sorry, miss," he said apologetically in a Creole accent, but 'dis is private property. You'll have to leave."

Amanda leaned forward over the steering wheel, letting the guard's flashlight catch a glimpse of her cleavage. His response was entirely predictable. "Oh, that's too bad," Amanda cooed. "My friend and I were hoping to give you a good time."

The guard licked his lips at the prospect and glanced lewdly at Kelly. Then, he groaned and slid into a boneless heap, revealing Methos standing behind him, a bloodied knife in his hand.

"Perfect timing," Amanda complimented him.

Methos flashed a quick smile before bending down to wipe his blade clean on the dying guard's back. He grabbed the access card and a set of keys from the guard's belt, then swiped the access card across the reader set in a post by the gate. The gate slid open with a faint rattle of its chain links and Kelly winced at the sound.

Amanda drove the car through, then paused long enough for Methos to climb back in. They headed for the nearest door that they could see, a loading dock, then parked as close as they dared.

From there, they could see that a semi-tractor/trailer had been backed up to the loading dock. It looked as though the trailer was waiting to be loaded, and any minute now, workers would come swarming to fill it. As one unit, Methos, Kelly, and Amanda crept closer to the dock. To their combined relief, no one was presently in sight around the dock.

"Mac's here," Methos announced as they moved through the dock area. "Somewhere." He glanced up at the ceiling of the three-story structure, as if trying to hone in on the sense of Presence he felt.

Amanda glanced at him. "Are you sure it's not some other Immortal?"

Methos favored her with an annoyed glance. "Positive."

"Well," Kelly said, "the easiest way to find him is— "

"Hey!" a strange male voice yelled. "You're not supposed to be here!"

The trio of rescuers looked in the direction of the voice, which came from the lip of the dock. It was a security guard they hadn't seen, and his partner. Kelly swore, even as she pulled the hog leg of a gun she'd been carrying and fired at the closer of the two.

The sound was deafening and echoed through the dock area. Methos realized that the gunfire would probably bring reinforcements, if the surviving guard didn't radio for them first. "That was brilliant!" Methos shouted at Kelly as they began to run for the door. "You never heard of a silencer?"

"Fuck you, I'm not perfect," Kelly retorted, jogging down the hall.

"Right on both counts, I think," Amanda muttered under her breath. Methos turned his head, as if he'd heard her. They came to a junction, and Amanda took the left fork as Kelly and Methos went right, a small posse of Caindale's goons hot on their trail.

The goon squad was armed, and wasn't afraid to use its firepower. As Kelly dashed for a flight of stairs, she felt Methos flinch and fall against her. She knew he'd been hit, and stopped on the third step to turn and return fire at their pursuers. Methos was a dead weight against her left shoulder, and his body hampered her line of sight. She had no choice, though, but to take the shot, and worry about Methos later. She was gratified when the two goons fell.

A bullet whizzed past her face from upstairs. She turned again, and in the process, unceremoniously shoved Methos against the stair railing. Trapping his body between hers and the rail, she searched the stairwell for her attacker.

 _Come on, Methos, pull a Lazarus,_ she willed silently even as she pointed her gun upstairs.

The gods weren't listening to Kelly tonight. Another bullet hit Methos in the shoulder, just missing Kelly. She was getting pissed now, and she fought to control her breathing, knowing that she was more prone to missing a shot when her breathing was erratic. She took a deep breath, aimed her gun in the direction of the shot, and fired. The mini-cannon boomed, and Kelly was rewarded by an involuntary cry of pain.

_Gotcha._

Methos revived with a sharp inhalation of air. "Damn, I hate that," he told Kelly, as he shifted position to stand fully upright.

Kelly looked at him and smiled gently. "I'd hate it more if you were dead."

Methos met her gaze, and she realized with a jolt that she'd said more than she'd intended. Suddenly, it was as if a spell had been cast, and time seemed to freeze. Her heart, already pounding from the rush of adrenaline, sped up a notch. Unconsciously, her lips parted. She watched as his eyes dropped to her lips, a motion that sent a tingle of excitement rippling through her.

She inhaled deeply, trying to get her rioting emotions under control.

Still, she didn't move until a bullet whizzed past the two of them, and both of their survival instincts kicked in. Kelly spun around and quickly took aim at the armed goon, effectively taking him down. She and Methos paused, waiting tensely for another shot to be fired at them. When that didn't happen, they cautiously continued their way up the steps.

A few minutes later, they reached the top of the stairwell. A prone and bleeding body laid testament to the accuracy of Kelly's shot. Kelly glimpsed movement at the end of the hall, and aimed her gun.

"Hold up," Methos hissed as he entered the hallway and drew his sword. "It's another Immortal."

Kelly didn't relax her trigger until she saw Amanda step into the corridor, her sword drawn. Blood stained Amanda's clothes, testifying to several close encounters with death.

Amanda met them in the middle of the hallway. "They've got someone up here. I thought it was Mac, but then I couldn't sense him anymore."

"He's here," Methos insisted.

"Well," Kelly responded. "We've got three rooms here."

On that cue, each took one room. Methos came up empty, as did Kelly, but Amanda struck pay dirt on the third. It was the only one locked, and Amanda had to pick it to get it open. A surprised flunky, who was promptly stabbed, met the opening of the door.

"Remind me not to piss you off," Amanda commented as Kelly pulled her knife out of the body.

"I think you already did that once," Kelly returned sweetly.

Amanda sent Kelly her best sheepish-but-innocent look, but it was wasted on the other woman, as she had turned her attention elsewhere.

"Fuck," Kelly swore, finally taking in the scene before them.

What they saw sickened all of them.

Mac had been tied to a support pillar. An intravenous needle was jammed in his arm, and a setup similar to that of blood donation had been set in place. The only problem was that the blood donation wasn't being limited to a pint or two.

Kelly reacted swiftly, crossing the room to rip the IV needle out of Mac's arm. Amanda followed close behind, stepping in front of Mac to assess the damage as Methos and Kelly worked on loosening their friend's bonds.

Mac stirred, groaning as little bits of Quickening lightning played over his skin, evidence of his body trying to heal itself. He opened his eyes slowly.

"Mac," Amanda inquired, "how do you feel?"

Mac looked momentarily surprised at the combination of Methos, Kelly, and Amanda as his rescuers. "Amanda, what are you doing here?" he asked stupidly as his arms and legs were freed.

In her excitement at seeing Mac alive, she forgot that Kelly was present and impulsively kissed him. "Rescuing you," Amanda informed him.

"Come on," Kelly urged. Her voice was ice-cold. "We'd better get the fuck out of here." She strode out of the room as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.

Methos glanced at her retreating figure, then at Amanda, who blithely ignored him in favor of asking Mac, "Can you walk?"

When he nodded dazedly, Methos motioned towards the door. "Then let's get out of here," he said.

* * *

_ Back at the jeep: _

Caly spent five full minutes picking gravel out of her face, and trying to staunch the flow of blood from her nose. Joe sighed tiredly and leaned against the side of the jeep, knowing better than to approach Caly right then. Her moods tended to be mercurial after she'd been injured. One never knew if she'd burst into tears or go on the attack if comfort was attempted. On the other hand, Roger, the poor, poor sap, didn't know any better. Joe thought he should have, considering what had already transpired since the Watcher had met the hacker.

"We should get you to a hospital," Roger said, approaching Caly. She was still sitting on the ground, next to the flat tire.

"Are you a fucking moron?" Caly snapped around the napkins shoved up her nose. "Not only don't we have the goddamn time to do that shit, there's also no fucking damned reason to."

Joe saw Roger glance his way, and shook his head minutely at the younger Watcher, widening his eyes in warning. Apparently, Roger had some kind of death wish that Sher hadn't told Joe about, because he knelt down beside Caly.

"It might be broken," he insisted.

Caly snorted, sending the napkin, and a fountain of blood, shooting out of her left nostril.

 _Yum,_ Joe thought, burying his chin in his chest to hide his amusement.

Roger solicitously offered Caly a handkerchief, and she unceremoniously crammed it up her nose before replying to him. "Listen, dippy Stalker boy, I have broken my nose four times. I think I am qualified to know whether it's broken, and it's not." She scrambled to her feet, the white material still dangling from her nose, and went back to struggling with the tire iron.

Once again, Roger just didn't know when to quit.

"Maybe if you-"

"Shut up!" Caly screamed and lobbed a wrench at Roger. The Watcher shrank back and finally lapsed into silence. Joe choked on a sardonic chuckle and dodged the air pressure gauge that flew at his head.

A few minutes later, the tire was off, the spare was on, but the lug nuts were less than pleased with being reattached. Caly screwed the last one on, kicked the wheel and yanked the jack out from under the car with a force that belied her small stature. She tossed them in the open back.

Caly dove for the car, sliding into the driver's seat before muttering something that sounded like "get the fuck in".

No matter what it was, both of the men listened to her. She peeled away just as Joe pulled his cane in next to him. His door flailed open for a second, then slammed shut of its own accord when Caly rounded the corner at a very illegal speed.

"A hunting we will go," Caly sang under her breath, a cigarette dangling from her lips, still unlit. "A hunting we will go, Heigh ho, the fucking dilly oh, Methos ass kicking we will go."

Joe rolled his eyes and slammed his head against the window.

* * *

Sage cradled her head into the curve of Nick's shoulder as they sat on the floor in the room. They could hear the fading echoes of gunfire, and wondered if anyone would come looking for them. Sage wondered if where they were in was on the far side of the factory. If so, that would make sensing her lone Presence difficult. Silently, she prayed that wasn't the case. Long minutes passed, and no one came.

 _So much for the power of prayer,_ she thought. _Well, it was a shot in the dark anyway._

"So," she drawled, trying to sound unperturbed. "Do you think we'll be remembered?"

Nick shrugged, and jostled Sage's head. "I dunno," he answered. "I certainly hope so. Because I don't know if we can get out through the ventilation— "

Sage's head shot up. "Shit!" she cursed. "Why didn't I think of that?" Sage rose from Nick's embrace somewhat reluctantly, and tried to drag him to his feet. "Dude, help me up there."

Nick examined the ventilation shaft. "That's awfully small," he began.

Sage grunted, and tossed her jacket on the bench. She reached back into one of the pockets and pulled a lock pick from the lining. "Every Immie should have one," she cooed and she slipped it into her bra. "Come on, I am one of the smallest people in the universe, help me up there."

Nick braced himself, and reached for Sage.

* * *

Sher was not happy. She'd been cuffed before. She decided glumly that there are some things that did not become easier to handle with time, and that being cuffed as one of them. She twisted her hands in the cuffs. Maybe if she broke her thumb, and took off some skin, the cuff would come off.

Unfortunately, goon number one noticed her Houdini ministrations, and reached back, tightening the cuff so that it hugged her wrist. _Well, fucking groovy,_ Sher thought, staring daggers at the man. _Shithead_.

Richie stood idly by, in stasis almost. His eyes were the only live part of him, darting back and forth. They settled on Sher as if they had sensed her gaze. She sighed and tried not to look worried/frightened/pissed.

They'd been dragged down to the main factory floor, and then shoved into a car. From there, Sher had no idea where they went, because the car had heavily tinted windows. Night did not make it any easier to see out of them. Of course, the fact that goon number one had had a tight hold on her hair, and a gun pressed to her throat during the entire ten-minute ride had made it even harder to get any observation done.

Where they were now, Sher could only guess was the warehouse. Goons unloaded crates from the semi that was parked outside flush with the loading dock. She sighed. This was not going well. What was more, Mac was no longer within sensing difference, and she had a good idea that Sage and Nick were probably still back at the factory.

Caindale was supervising the unloading process. So far, he had not paid any attention to either Sher or Richie. Sher was not fooled; it was just a matter of time.

As if he sensed her thoughts, Caindale pivoted on his heel. _Oh shit,_ Sher thought. The little man strode towards them. She schooled her face into the 'hey, I don't take shit from you, little man' face and glared.

"Bravado from the frightened rabbit," Caindale warbled. "How lovely." He stopped short of her by less than two feet, reached out and parted the front of her shirt to trace the scar down her chest. "How in heavens did you get that?"

Sher's voice of self-preservation screamed that the truth wouldn't hurt. Sher ignored it. "I was thrown through a window during a blue light special at K Mart," Sher growled.

"Triteness does not become that face, angel," Caindale sang, running a finger across the scar on her clavicle.

"Hey, who's being trite. Do you know what some women will do to get a Teletubby doll?" Sher glanced at Richie, whose face was struggling not to smile. Well at least Caindale couldn't control everything all the time.

Sher was used to being manhandled, especially by people who fondled her. So, it was no surprise when Caindale smacked her, and she lost balance, toppling to the ground.

Sher's Quickening reached out and grasped control of Richie's body. She couldn't actually *control* Richie, not like Caindale, but she was gonna be damn sure that no one else could. She could feel Richie relax, as if he had been tense, and Sher's Quickening was a gentle hand.

Caindale noticed. Right away. He kicked her in the gut. That caused her concentration to lapse, and consequently, she lost her hold on Richie. It also loosened her hold on her stomach. Sher rolled over onto her stomach and vomited nothing. Richie however moved of his own free will. He ran to her side, and stopped short when three different guns were pointed at him.

Caindale laughed. "She will do," he muttered. "She will do."

This seemed to be a cue for Sher's guards. They hauled the Immortal to her feet and led her to a stack of crates, hoisting her up onto the boxes with ease. Sher gagged on her own bile.

"Do for what?" Richie croaked.

"For Renee," Caindale replied. "By now your companions have reached the factory and discovered MacLeod in the upper room. By the time they get here, we'll all be long gone. You, myself, the shipment, Renee," he gestured to the other room behind him. "This lovely one," he waved a hand at Sher. "We will all be on our way."

"Way?" Sher choked. "No, I don't think so."

Caindale grinned from ear to ear. Sher decided it made him look worse. "Oh yes, we have a schedule here. There's a war across the continent, you know. And you have a life to sustain."

"Why do I think that you don't mean mine?" Sher asked dryly.

Caindale flashed tiny teeth. "Because I don't."

* * *

Mac laid in Amanda's lap in the back seat of the car. Methos drove, with Kelly in the front passenger seat. The Highlander was in terrible shape; despite his healing factor, he'd simply lost too much blood to be able to jump up and start doing handstands. Not that anyone expected him to.

"Hey in there," Amanda cooed to Mac. "Are you okay?" She had nestled his head in her lap, and petted the sides of his face, impervious to Kelly's glare. Methos watched worriedly from the rear view mirror, for several reasons.

The first would be Mac's state of health. Methos knew all too well that Immortal healing could only do so much in a short period of time. In the part of him that was forever tied to Mac, Methos could feel the Highlander's exhaustion seeping through. It bothered Methos more than he was willing to admit.

The second would be the look that Kelly was giving Amanda via the vanity mirror. He knew, as did everyone who'd witnessed the scene in the bar earlier that night, that the mercenary and Mac had been having problems lately; he also knew that Kelly was extremely drawn to Methos, but he knew jealousy when he saw it. And that jealousy was warranted. Kelly and Mac _were_ an item. Until that was officially broken off, Amanda should have been respecting that.

Of course, the fact that they had not been able to either sense or find Sher's group also nagged at him. If they weren't where they were supposed to be, then where were they? Sage's frantic call churned in his head, and he racked his brain for ideas. His mind was a blank that would have been refreshing any other time but now.

Amanda was doing her best to update the Highlander as to the entire situation of the evening. She told him about Kelly and the bar, then of their split into groups.

"The last we heard from Caly's group, they were in jail," Amanda offered. "And Sage called us from the factory in, well, a teeny-weeny bit of trouble, except it's maybe bigger than a teeny-weeny bit." She took a deep breath as her recently reawakened conscience nagged at her to tell the truth. "Okay, so it's a huge amount of trouble," she admitted in a rush. "I would venture to say that she and Sher and Nick have been discovered by whoever took you there."

It did not escape Methos's notice that she had not mentioned Richie in any way. Perhaps that was for the best. For now.

"Amanda," Mac croaked.

Kelly watched the Highlander struggle to sit up, and felt a little sting of glee. Amanda let go of him, and Mac cupped her face with one shaking hand. "What did you do with the key?"

Amanda's face went white. Methos cursed.

"What key?" Kelly asked slowly, with an even voice that meant someone was gonna get stabbed in the next three seconds if she was not immediately informed as to what was going on.

"This key," Duncan informed her, picking at a chain around Amanda's neck. It glistened silver in the light as Mac yanked it from her throat, and the compact chunky key cleared the neckline of her blouse. " He just kept asking about this key."

Kelly shook her head. "Is this all about that one fucking key? What's so goddamn fucking about a key?"

Amanda made wide eyes. Methos almost laughed. Those eyes might work on MacLeod. Hell they might even work on him or Joe, or that Nick fellow, but they weren't going to work on Kelly.

"Uh," she replied. "The warhead key I stole when I broke into the warehouse." Kelly swore in five different languages, and Mac threw the key at Amanda in disgust, slumping away from her in the back seat She threw up her hands. "What was I gonna do, let him sell the damn thing? It's a nuclear warhead!"

"Now was not the time to go altruistic, Amanda," Methos muttered. "Because Caindale has Sage, and the rest, if I'm right."

* * *

Sage slipped through the ventilator shaft, cursing. She knocked the end grate out with her arm, and slid, head first into the hallways. There were no guards in sight. She did a handstand, then a back-flip into standing position, and tried to locate the door to the cell that still held Nick.

"Hey," she said softly, knocking on a door. "You in there Nicky?"

Nick rapped on the door. "Yeah, and don't call me Nicky," he mumbled.

Sage smiled and slipped the lock pick out of her bra. She considered the lock, then she reached out with her hand and twisted the knob. The door opened. Nick stood on the other side.

Sage grinned. "Hey, look at that. Locked from the outside."

Nick tossed her jacket at her face, and scooted out the door. "Yeah, great, let's go."

"Waitaminute," Sage griped, grabbing his arm. "What about MacLeod?" She was damned if she was going to leave him here. Especially after she had met Caindale. Nick turned to her, and cocked his head.

"Can you feel him?" he asked. "Any of them?"

Sage shook her head. "No— "

"Then we'll go over this place once, but then we're gone," Nick told her. "I bet they're on the move. Ten bucks says they're at the warehouse."

Sage considered it, but didn't take the bet.

* * *

Caly screeched the jeep into the parking lot across from the warehouse, and cut the engine. She opened the door, tumbled out of the jeep, and headed for the trunk. By the time Roger and Joe made it back there, she was slamming the clip into a .45. Joe whistled low.

"Have any extra?" Roger asked her.

Caly eyed the Watcher and snorted. "Like you could hit the broad side of a barn," she groused.

Roger smiled minutely. "I've had a little practice," he said dryly.

Caly tossed him the .38 from the case, and Joe was left with the 9 mm. Everyone ammo-ed up, and then turned their attention to the warehouse. "So," Caly muttered, her face grim with determination. "I see the lights are on, and someone is home. How are we gonna play this? Stealth?"

Roger choked. Joe raised an eyebrow. "Caly, it's you, me, and Roger. Stealth isn't even on the menu."

Caly shrugged. "Fine with me. I do 'ass kicking' very well."

Roger nodded. "Ass kicking it is then."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Ass kicking. Great. Wonderful."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Caly snapped, spinning around, stumbling, and then falling to her ass. Ignoring her graceless tumble, she glared up at Joe and waited for his answer.

Joe leaned harder on his cane as Roger looked away so Caly wouldn't see him laughing at her.

"You can't even turn around without ending up on the floor, " Joe bit out, "I can't 'kick' any ass, and Roger is... Roger, but you want to go with 'ass kicking'? How many years were you with NSA?" he added sarcastically.

"Yeah, like your suggestions were fucking better — oh, wait, you didn't have any," Caly chirped angrily. "Put the fuck up, or shut the fuck up, Dawson."

"I have a suggestion," Roger said suddenly. Joe and Caly glared at him impatiently and he rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Why don't we go midway between stealth and ass-kicking?"

Caly blinked. "There's a midway?"

"What line were you standing on when common sense and logic were passed out?" Joe sputtered incredulously.

"Who needs enemies, eh?" Caly muttered under her breath. She shoved her gun in the waistband, then looked at Roger. "So, tell me about this 'midway', Stalker Boy."

* * *

Sage and Nick quickly searched the factory, the various dead guards they'd come across clued them into the fact that _something_ had gone down. There was a chance that Methos's group, responding to her call, had come and rescued the others.

Sage snorted. That was not the most likely scenario. Sher would have made sure to get Sage and Nick out of the tiny room they'd been locked in. That meant that Caindale had left with Sher and Richie, and possibly Mac. Methos's group had come, found nothing, and left. Sage silently cursed Caindale for putting them in a room that was so out of the way, that it had taken her and Nick almost ten minutes of winding through corridors to find the main stairwell. There was no way the other Immortals would have been able to sense her.

"Damn it," Sage exploded, kicking at a crate of potato chips. "I don't like this, not one damn bit. Sher, Richie _and_ Mac. Gone. Where the hell are they?" she asked in frustration. "Does Caindale have them all, or did Methos manage to get his hands on Mac, at least?"

"How do you know his group even made it here?" Nick asked logically.

Sage rolled her eyes. "Because, I told him Mac was here." She leveled her gaze on him. "You'd have to understand the group dynamics to know the import of that. Anyway, some of those guards... I've heard about Kelly, and that is _so_ her style."

"Let's assume, then, that Caindale has them," Nick mused. "I'll give you one guess where he's taken them."

Sage met his eyes. "The warehouse," they said simultaneously.

"You know," Sage mused, her eyes hard, "I really hate being left out. Goes back to my childhood, I think."

Nick nodded. "I know the feeling. So, shall we gate crash, Sage?"

"Oooh, let's," she grinned.

They made their way through the abandoned factory towards the exit. Despite the lighthearted chitchat, both were very worried about the situation, but for different reasons. Actually, for the same reason, but about different people. Nick barely knew any of the people involved in the mess, so his main worry was Amanda. Sage had a heap more worry to shoulder, what with Joe, Mac, Sher and Methos missing in action. Not to mention Richie. She shuddered involuntarily.

"Ever been married, Nicky?" Sage asked conversationally as they passed a crate of salt and vinegar chips.

"Once," Nick muttered quietly.

"Me too. Only lasted a couple of months, but it was fun," Sage laughed. She snagged a bag of barbecue chips from a bin as they walked by. "Mine."

"Are all Immortals so capricious, or just the ones Amanda knows?" Nick asked cynically.

Sage looked up at him and tilted her head. "What's that I smell?" she asked, sniffing comically. "Is that the smell of someone who's been burned?"

"Never fails to happen when there are Immortals around," Nick replied with a shrug as they stepped outside.

Sage frowned slightly and shook her head. "Nicky boy, when it comes to getting burned, I've got you beat by about five centuries," she said quietly. _Yeah, nothing like having the man you loved and lived with for a couple of decades decide to try and take your head while you were asleep,_ Sage thought bitterly. Some wounds never healed, no matter how many years passed.

Nick waited for her to add more, but she didn't. "Isn't this the part where you pass on some wise piece of Immortal advice?" he asked sardonically.

She sighed. Considering her personal dysfunctions, she was the last person on earth qualified to be handing out pieces of wisdom, despite the irony of her name being Sage. "Not my cuppa, Nicky. Come on," she said abruptly. "We can take Lucy to the warehouse."

"Can you drive that monster?" Nick asked doubtfully.

Sage hurried ahead and looked back at him. "Almost as good as Sher can," she assured him.

Nick shook his head as he followed her at a jog. "Not comforting, Sage. Not even a little."

"Well— "

"Yeah, yeah," Nick growled, "not your cuppa. Maybe I should drive. It's not too different from my old truck."

Sage successfully avoided his suggestion as they climbed back over the wall, and she jumped behind the wheel of the truck before he had a chance to make it again.

"Oh, this should be fun," Nick sighed as he slid into the passenger seat.

Sage pulled down the visor and caught the keys as they fell. "Relax," Sage suggested as she started the engine. "We'll be there before you know it."

With that, she put the truck into gear and pulled out with a screech.

* * *

"What's the plan?" Methos asked the group resignedly as he drove the Saturn.

"First, we need to get Mac back to the loft, or somewhere else safe," Amanda said firmly, and Mac cursed in Gaelic.

"I'm coming with you," Mac insisted weakly.

"You won't be much help," Kelly snapped from her place in the front.

Methos cut a glance in her direction and winced when he saw just how furious she was.

"I'm going," Mac said stubbornly. Kelly's eyes flared, and Amanda began to argue with the Highlander.

"Fine," Methos interrupted. "You can come. You'll be our outside guy, all right?"

Mac looked like he wanted to argue, but then he seemed to realize that Kelly was right. He wasn't in good shape and he wouldn't be reliable on the inside.

"Fair enough," Mac agreed.

"Well, I'm not letting him sit out there by himself," Amanda argued. "Duncan and I will keep an eye outside, and take care of anything that comes up."

"Perfect, lovely, just fucking _wonderful_ ," Kelly hissed blandly. "That leaves me and Methos going inside. Together. Works for me, how about you, Methos?"

"It's as good a plan as any, I guess," Methos replied neutrally, though he wanted to strangle Kelly for putting him in the middle, and Amanda for making Kelly feel like he needed to be put in the middle.

"We're almost there," Kelly noted as she glared out the window. She pulled out her monster gun and checked the ammo clip before putting it away again. "I could use a good fight right about now," she added dangerously.

* * *

"This looks like a good spot. What do you think, Nicky?" Sage asked as she turned onto a block not far from the factory.

"Juststopthisthing. Idon'tcarewhere," he said desperately as he clutched the arm rest in a white-knuckled grip.

"Here's good," Sage nodded in satisfaction, then cut the wheel to the left so sharply that the seat belt dug painfully into Nick's side.

As soon as the truck stopped, Nick let out the breath he'd been holding during the drive. "Okay," he gasped. "What's the plan?"

Sage narrowed her eyes and gazed at the warehouse two blocks in front of them. "Hmm. I think low profile is good. Sneak in, see what the deal is, then pounce."

"Sounds good," Nick admitted. "We don't have any weapons— "

"Not a problem," Sage grinned. She unbuckled her seat belt and began rummaging around in the mess that was the back seat. Muffled muttering made it to Nick's ears as he tried, unsuccessfully, not to stare at the sight Sage made, what with her butt almost touching the roof of the truck.

A horse saddle was tossed aside, as well as an empty bottle of tequila, a few packs of clove cigarettes, a few bottles of nail polish, and an Afro wig.

"Sher is the coolest bitch, Nicky," Sage informed him as she continued to rummage. "Always has guns on hand, and ammo too."

"I'm convinced Immortals are bloodthirsty," Nick drawled.

Sage stilled for a moment, then resumed her search.

"Back off, Nick," Sage said quietly. "You don't know what Sher's had to deal with. AHA! Got it."

She tossed two gun cases into the front seat, then slipped out of the truck. "Ready, Nicky boy?"

"Let's go," Nick nodded.

* * *

Methos stopped the car as close to the warehouse as he could get without being detected. Amanda helped Mac out of the car while Kelly watched with hard eyes.

Mac surveyed the area and pointed to a stack of barrels. "We'll hole up over there. It's a good vantage point, and we can get to the car fast, if we need to."

"Sounds good," Methos agreed, and they walked over to get Amanda and Mac settled.

"Are we ready, Kelly?"

Kelly nodded and started to head towards the warehouse, Methos right behind her.

"Methos, wait," Amanda called out quietly. He paused, and turned expectantly. Amanda bit her lip, and looked down.

"We don't have all night," he reminded her.

"I know," she acknowledged softly. "I, it's just... I want everyone to come back safe."

Methos smiled slightly. "I'll do my best to make sure you see Nick again," he drawled knowingly and she sighed.

She leaned against him and sighed. "Thanks. You keep safe, too."

"Let's go," Kelly snapped, and Amanda tensed.

"You'd better go."

"Watch out for MacLeod, he's still in bad shape."

"I will," she promised.

Methos joined Kelly again, and they started towards the warehouse.

* * *

"And then we kick ass?" Caly asked hopefully when Roger had explained what "midway" meant. She lit a cigarette and banged the gun impatiently against her thigh. Roger flinched every time it hit her; with her luck it would go off.

"Caly, if we do this right we won't need to kick ass," Roger replied patiently. Caly frowned in confusion.

"Look," Joe hissed. "It's simple. We go inside. We find out what's going on. Then we see what we can do to get them out. Quietly."

Caly sighed in disappointment. "Fine, fine. We'll do it the boring way."

Joe started muttering under his breath, and Caly met Roger's eye. He almost fell to the ground when she winked at him and grinned. _Why that little... she's being dense on purpose._

Roger bit back a smile. _Well, it was certainly distracting Joe from his worry about the others._

"Okay, so we got the ammo, we got the guns, we got the ass-kicking cane from fucking Hell," Caly announced dramatically. "I say we're set."

"I concur," Roger said, his eyes twinkling.

"Off we go, then," Caly chirped and lead the way. "You're not half bad, Stalker," she whispered quietly.

"Am I forgiven for my allergies, then?" he asked in amusement.

Joe was still muttering very unflattering things about Caly as he followed them.

"Just about," Caly informed Roger. She hooked arms with him and waved an aristocratic hand. "Now, if you'd been single, you would have been forgiven a while ago..."

* * *

Sher and Riche exchanged glances. Sher sighed. She really wanted these cuffs off.

Caindale was on a villain roll. Sher and Richie had both rolled their eyes at the laugh, and then the grandiose gestures, arm rolls that almost sent the little man toppling over three for four times. Sher and Richie were forced to follow Caindale out of the warehouse and into a smaller backroom. It was dark back there. Sher squinted in the light.

"I want you to meet her, because you'll be sharing a cargo hold with her," he told the both, grinning. Sher sucked in a breath at the smell. Something was rotting in here.

"Do you smell that?" she asked Richie, sotto voce. The other Immortal's eyes gleamed wild and wide.

"Smell what?"

Sher grunted. _Figures._

"Who is 'her'?" Richie said. Caindale flicked on a low light, and something inside the room hissed. It was a gurgling sound.

"Meet Marie," the little man told them both.

Sher almost went blind from the shock of it. There was a mass in the center of the room, and it was moving. It looked human, but it was still too dim to be sure.

Richie made a mewling noise deep in his throat. Sher translated it into his version of, 'what the hell is that?' Sher agreed.

"Marie was dead, oh so dead, and I brought her back to life," Caindale explained, walking lazy circles around 'Marie'. He ran his finger down her 'side', then nodded to goon number three, who came forward and donned rubber gloves. Everyone in the room, including Caindale himself, watched with animated interest as goon three stuck the mass of flesh that was Marie with a hypo full of dark liquid.

"Of course, you know, young lady, that zombies have a very short shelf life," Caindale said quietly, eyes never leaving the goon. Sher nodded, though she wasn't sure he had even seen it.

Richie turned to her. Sher's eyes widened, and he started to open his mouth.

Caindale laughed. "You didn't tell him," he said. "How very droll." Caindale indulged in a bit of maniacal laughter, and waved his hands. "Richard Ryan, take a good look, because this is what you will see in a few days if I choose to show you a mirror."

Sher's stomach heaved, and goon number two prodded her with the nose of his .45. Goon number three tossed the disposable hypo away, and placed the source of his injection back inside of a small cooler. Sher stared. It was one of those little Igloo things. And she knew blood bags when she saw them.

"Why the blood? Mortal blood won't help her stay together, Caindale." She stopped when she remembered his earlier proclamation. _And you, have a life to sustain._ Richie seemed to put it together too. He sighed; it was like the wheezing of a bellows.

"Sher?" he whispered.

Sher's eyes were glued to the cooler. _Oh, there is no fucking way,_ she thought. _No way._ "Yeah?" she asked Richie.

Richie smiled, and he bumped into her. Sher was jostled a little bit, but the smell made her wretch more than anything else. Richie fell to the floor in a grand performance of being ill. Caindale's goons didn't buy it. They hauled him to his feet and slammed him into a far wall.

None of that really mattered, because he had just slipped Sher the keys to her cuffs. Sher let her jacket cover her wrists, and worked with as little movement as possible. _As Methos might say, 'Time to make the donuts'._

Sher wasn't sure if Caindale was aware that they were going to get company or not. By now, Sage and Nick should have broken out of their cell. Either that or they were whiling the hours away testing the endurance of those prison issue benches. She sniffed and rolled her eyes at herself. Hopefully it was the former, not only because she and Richie could use the help, but also because she hated losing bets. Then again, the latter was possible, too. Sage, as Sher had heard one of her stable hands say, was one hot piece of ass, and Nick was just a man.

 _Men suck,_ she concluded. _Of course, they did have their uses...._

And damn, if Richie wasn't being useful now. He was making all kinds of noise, screaming, thrashing, trying to punch Caindale's flunkies. Sher gave the key one more twist in the cuff, and it cleared, sliding away, and letting her pull her hand out.

 _Righteous,_ was her only thought.

She had her left hand free, and was in the process of using the cover of using Richie's 'temper tantrum' to get her hand out of the right cuff when Richie made a strangled noise, and fell against some crates. Sher watched in horror as his temple smashed into the corner of an unopened crate, and he went tumbling to the ground.

 _Shit,_ was her next thought.

Just as Sher had freed herself of the cuffs, she heard a sound like thunder echo through the warehouse. The goon squad froze and instantly dropped Richie, as Caindale looked on with owl-eyes. Then thunder boomed again, one of the goon squad fell, clutching his chest in agony, and Sher realized that the sound was gunfire. A second one fell, leaving one standing.

"You can't stop me!" Caindale screamed. Closing his eyes, he began chanting. The words were old, and the sensation of something "other" began to fill the room. The feeling slithered up Sher's skin, a small python intent on strangling her into inaction. She had the briefest flash of déjà vu, as if she had once uttered those words in another time, another place, playing at things she hadn't yet understood. She breathed deeply, willing for a calm she didn't feel.

Richie rose from his prone state on the floor and started walking towards her, controlled by Caindale's words, Sher assumed. She stared, fear in her eyes. _No, please, not this._ Had she miscalculated her own power? Was Richie's brief flash of independence only an illusion? Having her hands free wasn't helping much at the moment. She had to do something, and she had to do it now.

_Xena, eat your heart out._

Sher reached out with her Quickening, feeling for the magic Caindale wielded. She felt, more than saw, Caindale's power. She imagined a big hand shoving it back at him, and then she lost consciousness.

* * *

Richie shook his head like a dog, feeling the unholy control snap out of him. He didn't stop to relish the feeling of freedom, but grabbed a gun from the nearest dead goon. He did, however, make a mental note to thank Sher, then grill her about all the things she had been keeping from him in the last few hours.

Caindale was staggering, still chanting, trying to gain control of the power that had been thrust back at him, but it was clear that he was having problems.

Sher groaned, as her healing took over and she sat up slowly, glancing about. Richie could see her behind Caindale. Her eyes widened when she took in the sight of him and the gun, but she stayed quiet. He glimpsed her as she slunk out of the line of fire, eyes wild and animalistic. What was she doing?

Sher was the least of his worries. Caindale began a complicated series of gestures, and Richie suddenly felt his hold start to win out over Sher's. Richie's hands started to lower. All of a sudden he was having trouble breathing.

 _Oh no,_ he decided swiftly. No one was getting any more control than these two had. He felt Sher reach out to him, like ice, or a cold Northern wind to battle the tropic heat of Caindale's power, and wondered for a second when his own being became a battle ground.

_Fuck this._

Richie cocked the gun and fired. The first shot went wild, and he heard a female voice cry out. Swearing, hoping he hadn't struck Sher, Richie aimed, and fired again. The second shot hit the mass of flesh that had been Marie. Richie swore again, and wished he'd bothered to learn how to shoot a gun. He steadied his trembling hands and fired. This time, the bullet struck Caindale, causing him to fall to his knees, his chanting forgotten.

"Die, you bastard," Richie hissed, and shot him again. The voodoo doctor reeled forward and lay face down on the floor.

Richie stepped over to the body and kicked it once, just to be sure Caindale was out of the picture. The body didn't stir, and Richie nodded, satisfied with his work.

Silence descended as the smell of cordite and blood hung heavy in the air. Richie glanced around, looking for and finding Sher. He rushed over to her limp form, intent on checking on her. Just as he bent down to touch her, he heard a female, Irish-accented voice call out, "Sher? Richie?"

Richie straightened and looked in the direction of the voice as its owner stepped into view and approached him warily. He smiled, recognizing Kelly. He was more than a little relieved at the sight of his allies since he wasn't sure if he was going to yak or not. _Did zombies yak?_ he wondered, and decided he didn't really want to find out. "Over here," he answered finally. "Did you get everyone?"

Right then, Methos surged around a corner. His eyes were wide and he held his .45 at ready. He didn't seem to be phased by Richie's appearance (and Richie figured he looked like crap), but instead made for Sher's crumpled and shivering form. "That's everyone. Do you know where Nick and Sage are?"

"They were back at the factory the last we knew," Richie said as Sher moaned, and tried to sit up.

"Shit!" Kelly exclaimed, slamming a hand against a wall. "We were just fucking there."

Methos pushed Sher's rambunctious curls off her face gently and spoke without removing his eyes from her. "They're probably gone by now," he mused. "Sage can't stand being locked up, and God knows she's got enough tricks up her sleeve to get her and Nick out of there."

Everyone who knew Sage nodded in agreement, and Kelly shrugged in acceptance.

Just then, they heard gunfire from the west. "I thought you said that was everyone," Kelly accused Methos.

He quickly busied himself in assisting Sher to her feet. "Come on, we've got to get going. Up and at 'em, soldier," he quipped, much to Kelly's amusement.

"Nice to see you too," Sher drawled. She turned her attention to Richie, biting her lip and blowing air hard from her mouth. "Hello Richard," she said softly. "Nice to see you still in one piece."

 _For now,_ Richie thought, a sudden feeling of dread and fear overcoming him.

"We'd better check out the rest of the place," Kelly reminded Methos. "Just in case Caindale brought Sage and Nick here." She hurried off in the direction of the gunfire.

Methos swore, and looked torn between following her and leaving the warehouse. He made up his mind quickly, surprising Sher, by the look on her face. "Let's go."

"What about Kelly?" Sher asked. Methos chose to ignore her question. Then she chuckled weakly, and shook her head. "Damn it, I just lost a bet."

Methos chuckled. "You bet on me. How very very sad." Then he checked his clip and made for the door in a half crouch, mild trot.

Sher and Richie were left with no choice but to follow him. Just before reaching the parking lot, they were met by Nick and Sage. Kelly followed in the newcomers' wake, looking more battered than she had been when she left. She clutched her upper left arm with her right hand, swearing as she approached the group.

"You're hit," Richie stated, surprised.

"No, I'm just bleeding for the hell of it," Kelly snapped.

"Let me look at that," Methos offered.

"It'll keep," Kelly said dismissively. "We have to get going. There's a chopper coming, and I don't think it's the police."

The others strained to hear, and were finally rewarded with a faint sound of blades cutting the air.

"But everyone's dead," Richie muttered, and Nick frowned.

"Where's Caindale?" the ex-cop muttered, just as Sher and Richie both went ramrod stiff. Nick rolled his eyes. "Here we go again. I am not climbing any more rafters, uh uh. No way."

Sher smacked Richie in the shoulder. "I thought you killed him!" she screeched, and the two of them set back to the warehouse at a dead run.

"I thought I killed him, too!" Richie exclaimed.

The sounds of running feet echoed behind him, and Richie was glad that the others had decided to follow them. He heard Kelly mutter something under her breath about magic and "fucking warlocks". Then Sage snickered and muttered something about _Dungeons and Dragons_ , and being chaotically neutral.

Sher and Richie led the others to the door and the Texan wrenched the metal cargo doors wide open, glancing at the sky. The rest of the group caught up to them, and Methos pointed at the chopper a few blocks away.

"Sher! Richie!" he called, as the noise got louder and louder. "Let's go! Don't play with the devil here! Let him go! We have Mac!"

Sher seemed to waver for a split second, and Nick barreled past them all to the spiral stairs that led to the upper levels. Methos sighed.

Kelly, however, was not encumbered by tact. "God damn you fucking altruistic bastards! He's gonna get fucking iced!" Then she made for the stairs, Sher darting after her, followed by Sage. Richie wavered. He didn't want to have yet another run in with Caindale, but he knew better than anyone what the man was capable of. If what they had surmised at the factory was correct, Caindale had to be stopped.

Methos hefted his gun in his hand and looked at him. "Go," he said, sounding resigned. "MacLeod and Amanda are by the cars. I'll let them know what's going on."

Richie heard the last sentence from a distance, as he had pretty much bolted for the staircase as soon as Methos had told him to. For a moment, he hesitated on the landing, wanting to make sure Mac was all right. Then he remembered he owed Sher for getting him free. With a grim smile, Richie bounded up the last flight of stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

"But there's gonna be peace  
in the valley tomorrow  
'Cos tonight we're gonna blow it all away" — A3, "Peace in the Valley"  

Richie reached the landing just in time to have Sage scream at him, "Go back!" She threw herself down the flight of stairs, swinging like a monkey from the railings and into his arms.

He was feeling more than a little deaf and way more than a little confused. "What?" he asked over the growing roar of the helicopter above them.

"Go! Go!" she yelled. She pushed him and spun him around. He tried to face her, but she was ahead of him now and yanking on his belt loops. "We don't have time for this. Get the molasses out o'yer ass!" Then she let go and took off outside the building at a dead run.

Just then, Richie heard the thunder of Kelly's gun as Sher came throttling down the stairs. She jumped the last railing with what looked like more than a little practice and snagged the exact same belt loop Sage had just let go of. "What are you waiting for? We have to get downstairs! Kelly and Nick have the chopper!"

"Wait!" he called after her. "They have the chopper? Where's Caindale? What's going on here?" Sher doubled back and was almost caught up to him again when the air went still for a moment. Then something exploded, and Nick and Kelly dashed into the stairwell, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Anyone order a flambé?" Kelly panted, bending down to place her palms on her knees.

"I forgot the marshmallows," Nick replied, breathing hard. With an obvious effort, he pushed himself away from the wall and headed down the stairs at a brisk trot. The rest of the troupe followed him out to the lot.

They stopped for a few seconds by the edge of the building, trying to catch their breath. Richie stumbled with his footing in the dark, then sat on the edge of the loading dock, while Nick sprawled out on the ground, and Kelly leaned against a metal cargo door. Methos met then outside, Sage in tow.

"What took you so fucking long? Pillsbury Doughboy," Sage smacked Richie in the shoulder. It didn't hurt. "I told you to get your sorry ass outside.

"No, he decided to spin like a dreidel downstairs and watch everyone come vaulting over him," Sher groaned. She pressed her hand into her side. "Me vaulting steps. Not happy," she whined.

"Did you get Caindale?" Methos asked, tapping his gun against his thigh. "Amanda has Mac in the car, but they won't stay there forever."

There was a silence that sounded like an argument of people not willing to speak. Then again, everyone who had the answers was still trying to catch their breath and get rid of any extra adrenaline.

"Kelly blew up the chopper as it was trying to land," Nick reported. "I don't think anyone got on. I think we got Caindale."

Abruptly, there was a screech of tires as a white Cadillac Catera burned rubber out of the parking lot just ahead of where the group stood gathered.

"Good Goddamn," Kelly swore straightening. "What is he, some kind of Uber Man?"

"Most people have the good decency to die when you try to kill them," Sage commented as she started towards the parking lot at a trot that allowed everyone to keep up despite being winded.  

"People in glass houses," Nick muttered under his breath, and Sage turned back long enough to smirk at him.

Following Sage's lead, the gang headed for the nearest means of transportation. There was a momentary scramble as people tried to fit into various vehicles. Methos muttered a comment about the Keystone Cops and circus clowns, then demanded someone open a door to something. Sage tossed Sher her keys, and the Texan started Lucy with one foot in the door. Richie tucked himself in the back seat, and Methos was still in the process of stepping up when Lucy peeled out of the parking lot, Kelly hanging onto the rollbar in the back of the truck bed.

 

* * *

Sage and Nick tumbled into the car with Mac and Amanda. The other Immortal woman looked up.

"Where have you all been? What happened? Where are we going? What blew up?"

Sage had her foot on the gas pedal before she even started the car. Nick pulled his gun. That is, after he fastened his seat belt. If she hadn't been trying to take a ninety-degree turn at eighty, she might have laughed. _Fuck it._ She laughed. Hard. It wasn't easy to steer the now-speeding Saturn while wiping tears from her eyes, but she managed. Nick, apparently, wasn't as slow a learner as he looked to be, because he didn't ask. He just looked at her, let out a breath, and turned his attention to his gun.

It was the gun that killed Sage's strange amusement, and her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She was way past her adolescence and long past her zest for this kind of shit. Her lips twisted into a wry grin. Like Danny Glover and Mel Gibson in those _Lethal Weapon_ movies, she was too old for this shit.

Amanda wasn't finished in the back seat Even Mac was upright and alert. _Well rah rah rah for the fortitude of them Highland Critters_ , Sage mused.

"I'm serious," Amanda continued, "I want to know. Come on! Where are we going— watch out for the... well, that's one garbage can that no longer functions..."

Sage grinned to herself. If she thought too much about all the crap that had gone down that night already, or the endless possibilities of what might go down yet, she'd grab Nick's hand and head towards the nearest cliff, a la _Thelma and Louise_. She rolled her eyes and vowed to get rid of her Blockbuster membership if she managed to get out of this with her head still intact.

"What happened?" Amanda demanded.

Sage watched Nick check the clip in his .38. "Oh, stuff," she sang mildly. Nick snorted. Sage held the pedal to the floor, trying to coax more speed out of the sedan. She knew the luxury sports car ahead of her had more power than the vehicle she was driving, and it would be a struggle just to keep it in sight. "Whose idea was it to steal this fiberglass monstrosity?" she griped.

"Hey, it was a perfectly good idea," Amanda protested. "And I thought it was made of plastic."

"Just keep the wheel steady," Nick ordered as he depressed the button to lower the window on his side of the car and stuck his gun out of the window. "I'm going to try and shoot the tires."

Sage took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline rushing through her body again, chasing away her hope of distraction. She was going to collapse after this was all over. They all were. "Okay." She braced both hands on the wheel and willed herself to keep the car between the lines on the road. Her driving was.poor under the best of circumstances. "Calm down girl, he's going to shoot out the tires. God," she muttered as she swerved to avoid the guardrail. "He's going all _Starsky and Hutch_ on your ass."

The road curved just then, and Nick swore as his aim was thrown off. "Keep the wheel steady!" he shouted.

Sage made a groaning sound in the back of her throat. Who the hell had decided to make the roads so curvy? And why hadn't she noticed until now? "I'm trying, damn it! I can't help it if the road decides not to be straight!"

"Quit arguing," Amanda ordered, "and just shoot the tires already, will you?"

Sage kept her eyes on the road, but in her peripheral vision she saw Nick go as still as one could while hanging out of a speeding car and she braced herself. Sure enough, a shot erupted from Nick's gun. She didn't know where the bullet went, but it damned well hadn't lodged itself in a car wheel. A muttered "please, God" made it to her ears and she ground her teeth together, adding her less-than-religious prayers to Nick's.

Whether it was his second or third shot that made contact, Sage didn't know. She also didn't give a fuck, either.

The Catera skidded sideways at the sudden cessation of air in the right rear tire, almost knocking out the sign at the entrance to the park. Sage let out a victory whoop, letting her lips pull into a wide smile.

"Don't count him out just yet," Nick warned. "Steer him closer to the park and away from the road, will you?"

Sage's grin faded. "Easier said than done, sweetie," she ground out as she tried to herd the Catera into taking the Stanley Park Road.

Sure enough, the creep wrestled for control of the car, gunning the engine. He hadn't counted on Sher, though, driving her monster truck directly at him. Someone was firing from the bed of the pickup, shattering the enemy car's windshield. The driver reacted to the bullets flying towards him by trying to overcompensate for the fishtailing his car was doing, and in the process, ended up turning the Cadillac in Sage's direction at full speed.

Reacting to the oncoming assault, Sage pulled her vehicle out of the line of fire, slamming on the brakes and downshifting into park, burning rubber in a smoldering stench. "Get out!" she screamed to her companions as she threw open her door and fell to the ground. Nick exited with a bit more grace, but not much. Amanda pulled a still weak Duncan out of the back seat and off onto a park bench.

The Cadillac hit the Saturn in a sickening crunch of metal and kept right on going. It was like watching an accordion compress as the crumple zones in each car were radically compromised. Sage was reminded of a monster truck rally, and was about to make a snide comment to Nick when Sher stopped her truck, pulling it into the entrance to the park.

"Nice shot," she complimented Kelly as she and Methos got out of the truck. "You done good, Opie."

"I'm not done yet," Kelly warned, setting the handgun down on the bed of the truck. She rummaged in her backpack a moment, then came up with a small canister. Smiling grimly, she hopped out of the pickup and started forward.

"Where the hell you get that?" Methos demanded, stopping her.

"I live with a Boy Scout," Kelly shot back. "Now get out of the way. This grenade's gonna blow as soon as my finger comes off the firing pin."

"Oh fuck," Sage swore, and carefully pried the grenade from Kelly's grip, transferring it to her own. "The only one of us who's not Immortal and she's all running off with the grenade. Take her somewhere where she won't be ventilated, Casanova." So saying, Sage stalked towards the crippled Cadillac.

Methos stared at Kelly, all too aware of the eyes upon them. Suddenly impatient with himself, and with the situation, he pulled her close, seeing adrenaline mixed with hyperawareness, desire and fear written in her expression. Seconds ticked by as they stood there, not quite embracing, feeling the tension between them rise as Kelly waited for Methos to make his move.

Abruptly, the grenade exploded. Instinctively, Methos shoved Kelly to the ground, shielding her with his body as shrapnel went flying everywhere. She swore at his sudden action, but he ignored her cursing, holding her close until he was sure it was safe to stand upright. If he lingered a little longer than necessary, Methos hoped no one noticed.

* * *

"Stop the car!" Joe yelled at Caly as they zipped through Stanley Park on a street that bisected it. "That's Sher's truck up there!"

"You sure?" Caly asked. "Roger?"

"Yes," Roger confirmed. "I'd'recognize that monstrosity anywhere. It's bright fucking purple."

"Well, finally, a cuss word out of the English stiff," Caly commented as she threw the Jeep into a tailspin, trying to do a U-turn. The two men swore and thanked God for the creator of seatbelts.

"No, no, you're going the wrong way!" Joe said irritably as Caly started heading down the way they came. "The other way, towards the parking lot!"

"Well, why didn't you just say so?" Caly demanded, and threw the Jeep into another sharp U-turn.

The Jeep screeched to a halt in the parking lot of the park, spewing gravel everywhere. The smell of burned rubber began to permeate the air as the Jeep's occupants were flung against the seatbelts. Caly shut off the engine and unlatched her seat belt.

"All rightie. Time to kick some ass."

Joe groaned as Caly sprang out of the Jeep, singing altogether too cheerily, "A-ass-kicking we will go, heigh ho the merry-o, a ass-kicking we will go."

"Shut the Hell up!" he growled.

Caly just sang louder.

* * *

Five minutes later, Joe stood and took in the scene in the park. Someone, he wasn't sure who, had put out most of the flaming wreckage of the Cadillac with a portable fire extinguisher. Caindale's still-smoldering corpse had been laid out on the ground. His head had been severed from his body, and someone's dagger had been planted in his heart for good measure. No one was taking chances he was coming back from the dead. "Well, I guess cleanup can wait for a few minutes," he declared.

Sage turned to Sher and pointed to Richie, hidden out of Duncan's view where the Scotsman wouldn't see him from the park benches where Amanda had laid him down to rest. "But he won't," she murmured.

As one unit, the group looked at Richie, who now resembled less of a human being and more the zombie he was. His skin was a sallow yellow, a jaundiced hue that resembled Chinese mustard, and rather sunken. His eyes glassed over and his whole body sagged as if it was propped up on a stick.

"So what do you propose to do about it?" Nick questioned. "Caindale can't still be alive."

"He's dead," Richie replied. "So is Marie." His eyes rolled in his head, and he grimaced. Nick shuffled his feet, and Sage sighed against him. The battle, as brief as it had been, was over.

Joe couldn't even go near the subject of Richie. Not at the moment. He'd get demanding later when they were far from this mess. Instead, he surveyed the rest of the group, assessing injuries and other more inward damage. Everyone, including those in his group, was flagging; even Kelly, who seemed to have the endurance of a minor deity, was showing signs of exhaustion. Sage and Nick seemed relatively unharmed, and Amanda was too concerned over Mac to have been traumatized herself. Methos was no where in sight, although someone had mentioned that he was 'covering their tracks', whatever that meant. Kelly looked like she had sustained a gunshot, but it couldn't have been that bad because she was still bitchy.

Sher was taking rapid hits from a cigarette, leaning against a tree on the outskirts of their group. The scent of clove wove itself under the stench of blood, burnt flesh, molten metal, and rotting zombie. That sickly sweet flavor seemed to make everything else smell more acrid, more terrible. Joe could have become accustomed to the horrific odors if that wisp of clove hadn't been there, taunting him, reminding him that what he was smelling was wrong.

A shrill whistle sounded, and his head jerked around. Sage was removing two fingers from her mouth, eyes focused, seemingly with great effort, on Sher. "Put it out," Sage called out wearily.

Joe shifted so that he could see both women. Sher had frozen, her clove cigarette halfway to her mouth. The two women's eyes were locked. Sher looked pale, and had that, "I'm not a badass, but I'll be as tough as I damn well can be" look on her face. It made her look like an ancient twelve-year-old.

Sage was leaning heavily on Nick, and with the exhaustion, both mental and physical, that she was obviously experiencing, should have appeared much the way Sher did. But she didn't. You could see her age in her eyes, but not in a bad way, not in a hard-edged way. She was looking at Sher much like a mother would have, projecting an aura of strength, doing her best to instill a sense of calm and order within the other Immortal.

It struck him, then, that their friendship was a lot more complex than they let it appear to be.

"Please," Sage added quietly. Sher closed her eyes and nodded, dropping the cigarette to ground and crushing it under her heel.

Joe was jolted out of his reverie when Nick opened his mouth and made a small noise. Everyone but Sage and Sher stared at him, a pack of tired faces and withered wills. "So if Marie and Caindale are dead," Nick said thoughtfully, "how do we get Richie back to where he belongs?"

Sage didn't remove her eyes from Sher, but answered Nick's question. "Sher's going to have to do it." All heads turned to Sher, who looked suddenly uncomfortable and resigned.

"What," Sher murmured, "Alakazam, all better now. I am the PokeMaster." When no one moved, she sighed. "Okay, I'll do it, but only because I need that Zombie Raising badge to make Bluebird."

Her Def Comedy Jam routine fell on mostly deaf ears. Sage grinned with her mouth, her eyes keeping steady. "So what do we need to do?" she asked Sher as though she were inquiring about the weather.

"Well, it ain't happening here," Sher muttered. She shrugged. "Ah need some tools. What do you think I am, Merlin?"

Nick sighed. Kelly looked peeved. Sage raised a brow and said, "Mac is sooooo King Arthur."

It made Sher roll her eyes before she took a breath and turned to Richie, placing a flat palm on his chest. Joe watched her hand go **into** Richie, just a little, and the revived Immortal's eyes brightened. Sher leaned into him.

"Live," she whispered. "Because I wish it." Sher took Richie's face in her hands and kissed him, gentle, motherly. Her back almost rippled with canned revulsion.

"This is an interesting, touching display, in a _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_ -esque kind of way," Caly started, and Joe was surprised she hadn't piped up before then. "But the boys in blue—"

Sher pressed her forehead to Richie's temple and snapped. "All right, he's good for now. Let's motor."

It was a much more subdued group that trundled towards where Mac and Amanda were waiting. Mac was lying on a park bench, Amanda petting his head gently. Sher snatched Richie's hand up in hers, whispering.

"Wait in the truck." Richie nodded, and veered off, heading for the truck in the opposite direction. Sher raised an eyebrow at the group. "Mac will die," she began.

Methos cut her off as he stepped out from behind a few trees. Joe watched his eyes shift about, scanning the streets and paths for Watchers and/or more assailants. "Agreed. Ryan is not at his best. It's better this way if he doesn't see." Then he waved a little to the new additions or returnees to the group. "Ah, I see the Pixie is out of jail," he commented sarcastically.

"We were here to rescue you," Caly said sarcastically, lighting up. "I was so bad, like Steve Segal. I mean, I was fucking pumped, man. Come on, tell me there's someone to kill." When no one said anything, she made a little noise that sounded like it came from a Bruce Lee movie. "Not even anyone to maim? Can I kick a body or something?"

"You're a little late," Methos observed, irritation coating his words. He gave her a knowing look and added, "Besides, I've seen your reaction to maiming, Pixie." Caly squirmed and looked away. Methos poked a little too hard at the wound on Kelly's shoulder, examining it in the dim light as he passed her.

"Fuck!" the mercenary swore. "You claim to be a fucking doctor?"

"Quit moving," Methos ordered. "If you'd let me look at this earlier, you wouldn't be feeling faint now. Or would you rather go to the emergency room?"

That silenced her; she hated hospitals. Joe wondered just when Kelly had expressed feeling faint, for she hadn't said a word to her physical constitution since he had gotten there. Sage and Sher watched the badly played out exchange of doctor and patient with unmuted interest. It appeared that they'd returned to their roles as incorrigible wise asses for the moment.

"Everyone's rescued, there was a huge fucking car chase, and even a freaking explosion!" Caly wailed dramatically, and so loudly that Methos turned to glare at her. If it wouldn't have confused him, Joe would have bet that Caly had bet against Kelly and Methos. Her actions were just a little to deliberate and whiny to be believable. "Man, I miss all the good shit!" Caly added, and Joe caught the hint of a smirk on her lips. She flailed her hands, including the one holding her gun. Everyone hit the ground. Caly didn't seem to notice as she continued, staring at the sky instead of everyone as the got up off the ground. "This is the worst day of my life, and it's all Drool Man's fault."

Gazes of amazement met her words. Methos took the gun out of her hand, whispering "dee-nied."

Joe snickered. Denied? Nah, more like, "successful."

Roger walked up to him, his gaze shifting between Joe and Caly, and pursed his lips. "Interesting," Roger murmured. At Joe's look of confusion, he continued, "You didn't notice when she was baiting you."

"What— ?"

"We'd better get out of here before the cops come," Nick urged.

"That is the last thing I need to fucking see, another goddamned pi— " Joe smacked Caly with his cane. "Ow!"

"Pay up," Amanda told Kelly. "I told you he'd call them."

Kelly tested the field dressing Methos had finally managed to apply before digging into a pocket to hand over a twenty-dollar bill.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and everyone scrambled for transportation. After yet another squabble, it was decided, rather discreetly, that Mac and Amanda would travel with Methos, Caly and Joe. As it was, everyone was squashed. Joe contemplated taking a cab, until he remembered they were supposed to be fleeing an incriminating scene with several dead bodies, voodoo kings or no.

 _Oh, the days when there were no major felonies_ , he mused.

 

* * *

"Where are we headed?" Roger  
asked, squeezing into the back of the truck cab with Richie and Nick. Sher hung  
out of the driver's door, not looking ready to get in the vehicle herself, but  
relaying the message to the Jeep. Everyone shrugged. Sage, once again, took control  
of the decision process while trying to light a cigarette and stretch her legs  
in the seat she shared with Kelly

"We need room to lay low and rest," she began, cutting a glance at Mac and Amanda in the back seat of the Jeep. "And someplace relatively deserted, for what is to come," she added.

"The Farm," Sher said. "It's huge. I'll close it tomorrow." She smiled and winked at Methos. "Come on, I'll make y'all breakfast."

"Breakfast!" Caly sang, standing on the doorway of the open driver's door of the Jeep. He was holding his breath waiting for her to fall backwards and crack her head off the pavement. The only thing that could perfect this night would be a famous Pixie ER trip. "Hey! We could ride horses!"

Methos thought he heard Sher mutter something to the effect of 'cold days in hell' and 'Hellspawn', and secretly hoped Sher wouldn't let Caly near her man-killer horse. The Texan slipped in the cab and waited until Caly's jeep peeled out of the lot across the street before the truck rumbled to life.

"Were are we headed?" Mac asked groggily.

"The country," Methos answered. To Caly, he added, "Follow the truck."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," was her reply, and they pulled out seconds before the police rounded the corner three blocks away

Methos could see Richie's head in the back window of the truck. Despite the chill, the windows to the truck were wide open, and he could hear Korn blaring out, and twin lit cigarettes hanging from ghost arms on either side.

 _Richie_ , he thought. _What are we going to do with you?_

* * *

Despite being the follower, Caly's little troupe was the first to arrive, having lost the monster truck on the highway and not really being fast enough to catch Sher when she wanted to lose things. Methos had the sneaking suspicion that it was entirely intentional, the little shaking of the Jeep. Whatever the purpose, he guided Caly to the farm with an absent mind.

Sher locked her doors, and so they all camped out on the porch, swilling the beer she kept in an outside cooler until her truck pulled up. Kelly, Nick and Sage tumbled out of the truck before it took off again, and Sher, Roger and Richie drove down behind the barn.

She and the Watcher joined them a minute later, sans their companion. She unlocked the door, and conducted a brief tour of her domicile mindlessly, then excused herself to her library.

As when they'd convened at Caly's a lifetime ago that evening, Amanda made coffee, while the others took advantage of the sprawling rooms to take showers or rummage in Sher's extra closets for comfortable clothes to change into. Kelly settled Mac in Sher's bed, then camped out in the kitchen with Joe, Nick and Amanda. Sage lounged on the porch with Roger, and Caly had taken a shower, eaten a stack of pancakes and fallen asleep, probably because she hadn't had any coffee in the last fifteen hours.

Methos stayed in the kitchen for a while, then checked on Mac. He listened to his friend's even breathing, looking down at the Highlander, and then trained an ear on to the kitchen. He changed his blood stained shirt, and donned a pair of jeans and a sweater that he had left at Sher's for just such an occasion.

Kelly's Irish lilt drifted to him in the manner of perfume. He closed his eyes, remembering how she'd felt in his arms, even innocently. He couldn't think about her now, not with Mac right here in Sher's bed—

Speaking of Sher...

Methos opened the door to her study, finding a dense cloud of smoke. He waved his hands about. Sher was on the floor, amidst a pile of open books. She was still wearing her coat, and her hair was a tangled mess. Methos shook his head. _And I'm supposed to be the bored researcher_ , he thought ruefully.

"What are you doing?" he hazarded, knowing the answer.

"Looking for something," Sher answered, flicking pages and sighing.

She lit another cigarette, regardless of the three already burning in the ashtray.

Methos sat beside her on the floor, and pulled one of the books to him. "The Kabbalah?" he ventured, raising an eyebrow.

Sher grunted. "Gimme that," she started.

"You can't keep him alive, you know, Caindale tried that," Methos said softly. Sher folded inward at the shoulders, stiffened, then cracked her neck.

"Nonsense, I'm onto something here. See, the Elders said that the genetic structure— "

"Sher," Methos cut off. "You know you can't do it. No one can," he finished.

Sher's face was white. "I know, but there has to be something I can do to keep from..." She turned her eyes to Methos. Those wild horse eyes. "Methos, I can't do what I need to do."

Methos shrugged, and his hand cupped her chin. "You're gonna have to, Sher," he told her.

Sher sighed again, and it sounded desperate. Then she nodded. "Then you do what you have to as well," she muttered.

Methos smiled. Sher shook her head, and closed her books. "Okay, Let's get this over with."

* * *

Mac was asleep in Sher's bedroom, and Amanda was busy tending to him when Sher slipped out of the house and down to the barn. Methos spirited out with her, wondering if she had put Richie in with the horses or not.

The answer was not. Sher was full of common sense, and even though he had never faced anything specifically undead, like Richie, his insides told him that horses would not like something of the zombie nature.

Richie sat in the anteroom with all the tack and saddles, back stiff and almost arched. Sher must have told him to stay put, and he had. Precisely where she had left him. If Methos hadn't been sure now about Richie's new nature, he was now. Richie, when he had been alive, had been the living embodiment of **not** paying attention to directions.

"Sher," Richie said hoarsely.

"Do me a favor," Sher muttered as she rifled through a wooden cabinet. "Don't speak." Richie shut up.

"Holy shit!" came a voice from behind them. It sounded suspiciously like someone he did not want to see at this time. He turned as Sher continued her search for... whatever, and watched Caly bound into the room, her hair askew, dressed in a pair of Sher's old hakama pants and a belly shirt that just cleared her breasts. How had he forgotten how little she slept?

Nick stumbled in with her. Sage, he knew from the sensation that washed over him, was not far behind.

"Pixie, now is not the time for a ride," he mewled mildly, trying to distract attention away from the almost disembodied Richie and his stiff posture on the desk.

Too late. "Richie! Word says you're going bye-bye soon."

Methos' head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes. Caly was too.carefree about the Richie zombie. He knew the Pixie well, knew that she liked to deal with problems by not dealing with them, and then pretending everything was just fine and dandy. That's what she was doing now, but what Methos couldn't understand was, why? She could have stayed in the house, blissfully removed from the horror in the tack room.

Vaguely he recalled the way she'd set herself on Richie's lap earlier that evening, comically staring at his neck. In the chaos that was happening at the time, he'd also seen Caly's antics settle into something more restrained, movements becoming subdued, even, which was a rare thing for her.

He didn't have time for it, no matter how it niggled at his curiosity. After it was all done, though, he'd ask Caly about it.

Richie didn't say anything, but his eyes said that he understood what Caly's words meant.

"Richard, speak," Sher muttered from the cabinet.

"So I've been told," he said finally. It was a trial for him just to make the sounds, and as soon as he said them, those in the room made little wincing faces.

"So," Kelly declared as she strolled in with Joe on her arm. "Do we get to say good-bye, or were the two of you going to do this little clandestine thing behind everyone's backs?"

Methos closed his eyes. "Behind your backs if we could have," he muttered. Sher swore behind him and finally reemerged from the cabinet. She turned to rifle in a desk drawer, pushing aside Richie's leg.

"We can do this with or without an audience," she told them. "I prefer the without, but I have a feeling you disagree with that idea, Mentor Mine."

"Damn right I do," Joe grumbled. "We just got him back and you decide to get rid of him without so much as a word— "

"Joe," Sage put a calming hand on his arm. "We didn't just 'get him back'; he came back for a reason. A very unnatural reason." Joe opened his mouth again, but shut it when Sage's face shifted slightly, suddenly embodying her moniker. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak, but she didn't do so immediately. Despite himself, this side of Sage intrigued Method. It was one that she didn't show often, and it made him remember that she wasn't at all the quirky well-adjusted Immortal she played at being. This was a woman who'd faced personal demons, who was still fighting some, even.

Sage's eyes moved to Sher, who was still rifling through the drawer, though it was small enough that she had to have seen all that was in it by this time. Twice. At Sage's continued silence, Sher grunted in resignation and raised her head. Eyes as wild as Hellspawn's when he was in a mood, face white as paper, she was a sight.

"Look at her, think about what she's been through, and tell me that she would do this if there was any other way," Sage finished in a hushed tone.

No one had anything to say to that. Looking at Joe's face, Methos found he did. _Damn that bastard Caindale._

Caly perched next to Richie and started to give him a play by play on all of his features and personality quirks, nothing in her attitude hinting at what Methos had seen at the bar.

"I hear you're a Libra. Bro is a Libra. They say that they're balanced." She swung her feet on the desk. "But then again, it's a horror scope, and look how unbalanced Bro is. For fuck's sake, two women creaming themselves for him and he has to pick the bitch that has a boyfr— ooooogggark!"

There was no accident this time, since Kelly deliberately hit Caly in the stomach and the girl tumbled sideways into a box of cleaning rags. Methos mustered enough pity to help the girl unshroud herself from the oily cloths, then glared a little at them both. Richie, still unable to move, looked as if he was trying to laugh. Or was that trying not to laugh? Methos thought he would have preferred the latter. It was more flattering to the boy's condition.

"This is not the time," he told the mortal women, "so very not the time."

Kelly shrugged and Caly wiped his face with a recently used oilcloth. He coughed and swallowed a sneeze, considering that he was getting off easily. With Caly's temper, and her strange attachment to her Glock, it could have been worse. "I was just makin' a point, big Bro."

For all of Caly's 'antics', she **did** have a point. He had learned that occasionally, in rare moments, Calypso Rhiannon Athena Wilde, daughter of two of God's original hippie templates, hit on painful clarity that no one else but she and her shameless ways would voice. Her green eyes blinked, face hidden behind a veil of rags, oracle-like, Delphic.

He hung his head. _So very not fair. Cursed by women. **These** women._

Anything anyone might have said was interrupted by Sher's new announcement. "Well, the good thing about this is, I can do it, and I won't have to get down an' dirty with the zombie," Sher muttered, slamming a drawer shut and pulling a long handled knife from a leather sheath. She brushed Richie with the barest of fingertips on his thigh and he was suddenly able to move again. He jumped down from the low perch and took a step backward, grimacing. Sher bared the knife in the lantern light. "Relax, it's not for you," she snapped. "It's for me." She took in a swift breath and turned the blade in her hand. Her eyes gleamed, perhaps a little wet.

"Sher— " Methos started. Sher stared at him. He shut up.

Sage furrowed her brows and made a face. "What are you gonna do?"

Sher brought the knife up to her face, pressing it against her cheek and closing her eyes. Then she flipped the weapon in mid air and caught it by the blade. Everyone watched her hold out the pommel to Methos. "Say hey Aaham," she drawled, and her voice purred out, covering everyone in the entourage. "I need you to help me relive old times."

Methos stared at her, then at the knife hilt. What was she thinking? Old times? Then it hit him.

"I won't kill you, Sher," he said softly, remembering a picture of Sher in the middle of the night as he stabbed her with her own blade, willing her to wake out of her nightmares and into cognizance.

Sher wasn't buying that. Sage didn't either; he heard her snort. Somewhere far behind him, he heard Caly say 'ick'. All he needed was Nick to chime in something moralistic.

"Sher, I know you can't die and all..." the ex-cop started and dwindled off when Sher favored him with one of her demeaning stares. "Oh. Never mind." He threw up his hands. "What should it matter that I'm here? I know nothing. Nope. Stupid equals me," he griped. "God..."

Richie slid in behind Sher, running a hand along her shoulder. His eyes met Methos's over her head: tired, glassy, dull. Richie was ready to be put down. Sher was ready to die for it.

So, despite Kelly and Sage and everyone staring at him, why couldn't he do this one thing?

"Sher," he whispered. "Can we talk about this in private?"

"Ah don't have time, and I need you." She pressed the hilt into his hand firmly. "Ah need you, Aaham."

"Oh hell," Sage grumbled. "I'll do it." She stepped forward to snatch the knife from Sher. "For God's sake, it's not like I'm killing you for real."

With her more hidden side freshly in his mind, Methos knew that her flippancy was a cover. His eyes slid between her and Sher, and it hit him like a crowbar to the head. These two.this was more than just two of his exes bonding over his memory. Neither of them had many female friends, their bluntness, looks, and tomboyish ways not sitting well with most other women. Not to mention their lack of patience and feelings of disgust for typical women and the games they played.

But they were friends, and they were women, and there were few less complex relationships than that.

Sher smiled, not removing her eyes from Methos's. "Sage," she whispered. "You can't."

The other Immortal woman frowned. "Well, I'm out of practice. I mean, I don't stab good friends all the time for fun, but I think I can handle a little— "

"Do you get off on it?" Sher asked sotto voce.

Caly stabbed Roger in the ribs with her elbow. "Did she just say that Bro gets off on this kind of stuff?" she asked, an odd note in her voice that sounded almost as though she was experiencing deja vieux. Roger was about to reply when Sage grunted. She stepped back.

"Oh no. That is all Methos."

Methos stared daggers at Sher. The Texan grinned, sly, evil, just a little. Kelly was eerily silent. If Mac had been with the group, he might have fallen to his knees and vomited. Methos wasn't entirely sure if he mightn't do it in the Highlander's place.

It wasn't the killing. Hell, no, he'd done that way too many times to even wonder about it. And if the circumstances had been different, he would happily turn Sher into a pincushion just to get Richie where he needed to be.

The nature of their audience changed everything. This was **Joe**. This was Calypso. They held images of him in their head, visions of what he was like, of what he would and would not do. Knowing that someone was capable of raucous violence, knowing that he enjoyed it on occasion, or even that he was indifferent to it so much so that it didn't end arousal for him, but heightened it, what would that do to their ideas of him? He had spent a great deal of time cultivating a persona that would make him normal, even by Immortal standards, and now Sher would have him ruin that.

Perhaps she just wanted to ruin his chances with Kelly.

 _What chances?_ his voice of reason asked. _She ran from Mac; why would she stay with you? And would you really want her to? After a while? Would you really?_

"Sher, there has to be another way— " Joe started.

"There is no other way," Sher said softly but firmly. "I need someone who can get his rocks off, and that would be this one." She gestured to Methos. "Go back to the house if you want, but this is getting done." To Methos she added, "It's okay, baby, I won't hate you in the morning."

"You are a real bitch, Sher," he muttered, taking the knife.

She smiled at him. "Bitch enough to kill me?" When he laughed, just a little, entering their realm of dark together and not choosing to hold back, despite their entourage, she smiled even more, drawing him back into Richie. When Richie's back was flush with the wall, she pressed herself into the chest behind her and wound her arms around Methos's neck drawing him close. Somewhere, Methos smelled the scent of cloves and cinnamon coming from her neck, mingled with hay and cigarettes, and more than a little blood. _It was enough_ , he thought, _enough._

"Then kiss me, and do it."

Methos stared at her for a long moment, then narrowed his eyes. Had he been able to see, he would have seen a five-dollar bill change hands between Sage and Nick as the minutes dragged on. Then, when the silence was so thick it felt like a blanket everyone was sharing, Methos leaned in and touched Sher's lips with the barest of brushes, only to delve into her as soon as she opened her mouth. In that instant, the dark passion that had never died between them flared into life, and he forgot they had an audience.

* * *

_She couldn't keep her legs on the ground_ , was the first thing that Nick thought as he watched the display, unsure of whether or not to actually stay there. But no one was paying any attention to the fact that they were all standing around getting ready to watch a real live snuff act.

Sher writhed against Richie, who, despite his condition, couldn't seem to stop his instinctive response. Nick imagined that some part of him wanted to deny his body's reaction, knowing that with every passing moment, he was that much closer to being dead again. Everyone, even him, knew he didn't have much choice.

The scent of sex was strong in the air, and as hard to ignore as the obvious sound of zippers being ripped down, and Methos's hand up Sher's shirt, reaching for her waist, or maybe something...

Glancing around the assembled group, feeling uncomfortably voyeuristic, Nick noted his companions' reactions. Amanda was nowhere in sight; Nick knew she was in the house tending to Mac. Sage looked fascinated; Caly was making rude commentary to Joe, who had turned his back to the entire scene; Roger appeared to be taking notes. Kelly, who stood beside Nick, just stared. Nick shivered a bit at the coldness of that stare, and wondered just what she was thinking. Then she glanced back at the house, and he knew.

Their eyes met at that instant and silent empathy exchanged. Kelly's expression softened for just a minute as she acknowledged the comfort Nick offered. Nick drew in a breath, shaken by the vulnerability he'd glimpsed in that moment. A loud moan interrupted his thoughts, reminding him of why he was standing in a tack room with a bunch of relative strangers. He returned his focus to the trio who were against the wall of the anteroom, and gasped.

Sher slammed herself between the two men. Methos's face was embedded in her neck, refusing to look at anyone, least of all her. Sher had turned his face in her hands so that she was looking the opposite direction. One hand extended back into the curve of Richie's neck. Nick wondered just how much Yoga needed to be accomplished for that particular jointed feat.

Richie seemed to have forgotten that they had any watchers. His head was thrown back, into the wood of the wall, and he let loose a wrenching screech with one final thrust into Sher's back.

Methos brought up his head, his face white and sweating, eyes closed, and one delicate hand embraced Sher's thigh, which curved up around his waist. The other slipped the knife from the shelf he'd placed it on. When Sher gave a ragged shudder and raised on tip toe to allow him room to pull away from her one last time, he drove her into the wall with his own body and the blade, tense muscles straining through his clothing.

Someone screamed, and Nick didn't know whether it was himself, or Sher, or even Kelly beside him, but he shut his eyes and fell to the floor, trying to untense muscles in his legs that he didn't even know he had.

When he raised his head again, Kelly's arms were around him, and Sage had a grip on his head. Joe was still facing away from the scene, but his back was so straight that Nick bet his muscles were bunched into one horrified knot of pain. Looking down, Nick saw that the other man's cane had been pushed down so hard that it had embedded itself in the wooden floor. For some reason, Nick had expected to see Caly by his side, but she wasn't. The mortal was in the same position she'd been in when it had all started, the only difference being that she had stopped her irreverent chattering. Of them all, her reaction was the most surprising. She looked resigned, as though she had been expecting this display of magic sex all along. Or something like it, Nick amended as he watched her light a cigarette with less clumsiness than he'd seen in her yet.

In the corner, Sher was dead. Methos stepped back from her body, catching it as it fell to the floor, staining the ground with blood and splashing Methos in the thick red liquid. Richie stared at the now silent group. Somehow, the extra-long dagger had passed through Sher's body and its hilt was buried in Richie. Methos looked at the once-Immortal for a moment that seemed suspended in time, then pulled out the dagger.

Richie seemed to come to life briefly. His mouth moved as if to speak. Abruptly, as if someone had snapped her fingers, his body turned to dust, hanging in the air with the same consistency as an upturned bag of sand. No one spoke as the impact of that registered.

Caly broke the silence. "What a way to go, man. Fucked to death."

Everyone turned to stare at her.

"You were all thinking it," she said with a shrug.

* * *

"And when I run it's only 'cause I don't know how to stay  
I don't know how to get my feelings out of my way  
It's not you, and it's not fun  
I know tryin' to hide is crazy  
Walking out won't save me  
My demons only chase me when I run"  
— Suzy Boguss, "When I Run"

 _THE NEXT NIGHT_ _  
JOE'S BAR_

The bar was open for business that night, and it was considerably less crowded than it had been the night before. Its illustrious owner had played earlier in the night, and the custom still bought enough beer and vodka to make Joe a reasonable living. Plus Methos had paid various bar tabs to settle bets.

All in all, a good night. This evening, like most others — and unlike the second half of the previous night— ran by quiet and slow, just like Nick preferred, rolling past the clock with the pull of a drifting leaf on still water.

Mac, as everyone had expected, had recovered neatly and was now not only back in full health, but demanding a complete recount. Hard pressed to talk around Richie's appearance and involvement, the group seemed content to leave a great deal of the tale to Methos's careful tongue, diplomatic wit, and skillful distraction ability. Roger, in a moment of great thinking, managed to silence the less than tactful Caly by plying her with alcohol.

The story presented to Mac resembled the truth the way a leopard resembled a cheetah: both had spots but they were only marginally similar species. They weren't telling Mac about Richie, and that was that. What was relayed to the curious Highlander was a Richie-free version of the previous night's events, wherein all details not including Richie remained the same. Any details that **had** been Richi-centric, on the other hand, were either glossed over, or credited to someone else (such as Richie's killing of Marie Renee, for which Sher had taken responsibility).

With all of the players, the voodoo, the warhead key, and the gun running, it had taken a while for Methos, with help from a laconic Kelly, a drunken Sage, and a morose Sher, to fill Mac in, and it had been confusing. Sage had quickly sketched out a flow chart for the Scotsman, careful to hide the other napkins that she'd used earlier, when Mac was in the bathroom, to get the Richieless story straight.

Once the basics were taken care of, Joe told the short and uneventful tale of "the incarceration of the three", allowing Caly to interrupt for a full five-minute rant about allergies and drooling men and tire irons and other nasty things. She had been on her fourth insult of the Seacouver PD when Joe whacked her in the back of her head with his cane.

Methos let Amanda tell the story of the now-street pizza Saturn, and wisely so. Mac had not been amused. Sage spun Amanda's actions by reminding Mac that it had been for a righteous cause, that they'd saved not only Mac's life, but countless others by putting Caindale out of business. Nick was surprised she kept a straight face while saying it, and wasn't surprised that Sher didn't even attempt to disguise her snort of disgust.

All in all, it was a perplexing convoluted story, and difficult to believe, but it seemed to satisfy MacLeod, who disagreed when Sher had shrugged and said that stranger things had happened.

Nick considered the latter part of the evening, when Sher had returned Richie back to the realm of the dead by raising a bizarre form of blood and sex magic, the likes of which Nick had never seen. Actually, that was a rather worthless sentiment, seeing as how Nick had never _seen_ sex magic before. Or blood magic. Or voodoo. Or whatever.

After being stabbed to death, Sher had woken slowly. They had transferred her body to a pile of blankets on the floor, waiting for her to revive from the large hole made by the knife that Methos had thrust through her, into Richie. No one had known what to do with the thing they now loosely termed "Richie", for lack of calling it anything else no matter how blasphemous it seemed, so Sage had swept it into a feed bucket and left it under Sher's desk. The Texan had promised she would deposit Richie where he belonged later.

People had slept the day away in shifts, despite that there was nothing really to be on guard against. Then again, maybe the memories of the night did warrant being on guard. Sher's various guestrooms had provided little comfort, and eventually the den couches had been bunched with bodies sleeping upright, as if whatever was haunting them could be driven away with sheer numbers. Sher had understandably shut herself in her den and locked the door. Amanda had fallen asleep curled around the Highlander.

The afternoon had been witness to leave-takings, with the promise to regroup at Joe's. After showering and the changing of clothes and some decent food, people began to show up at the bar as planned, for one last attempt at salvaging what was supposed to have been a leisurely night of drinking.

Sage and Sher had played darts all evening. Caly, still dressed in the pants that Sher had given her, and having dubbed them her 'bitchin' ninja panta-LOONS', had nearly taken both of her eyes out with the playing darts before Methos had physically removed her from the land of pointy things to the realm of pinball. Relaying the previous night's activities had been a long ordeal, and just as Caly finished her little endnote about cops, fur cuffs and drooling men, which she had titled "One to Grow On", Mike sounded the last call.

The bar emptied shortly until it just held the small group, the waitstaff and a busy jukebox. Games were played, songs were sung, and many bottles of expensive microbrews and even domestic beer piled up on the tables, trophies of a people too frightened to go home, too stubborn to admit it, and too determined to forget the past and just get "shitfaced".

Nick hung back a bit from the assembled group, still a bit overwhelmed by them. He couldn't remember a time when he'd met so many people who would go to the lengths they'd demonstrated for a single individual, much less another Immortal. It defied the "there can only be one" rule that Amanda had explained to him. The only way Nick could justify it was that he was in the midst of a kind of oasis. Having spent some time talking with Mac, he now understood why: the Highlander just drew people who wanted to be a part of the innate goodness he radiated.

Unfortunately, Mac's virtuous pull attracted people not as honest as him, particularly in relationships. By now it seemed painfully obvious to Nick that Amanda was trying to get the Highlander "back", whatever that really implied, since Amanda was too migratory to even have a legitimate claim on anyone. However much Amanda "wanted" MacLeod, Nick was willing to bet that she hadn't thought about any consequences.

 _And speaking of consequences..._ As Nick watched Amanda flirt shamelessly with Mac, he wondered where Kelly had gone.

The woman was no where in sight. _Not,_ Nick thought, _that I blame her for leaving. I'd kill Amanda right now for acting like I'm not noticing what she's doing, except I know jealousy isn't going to get me anywhere with someone who freely admits to having been a part of a harem._ He sighed, and wondered why he hadn't taken a cue from Kelly and left yet. _Perhaps you have a masochistic streak,_ he thought. _Or maybe,_ he considered as he watched Sage saunter across the bar towards him. _Maybe you have sense after all._

Sage sighed as she plunked herself down next to him, stretching her little legs out in his lap. She crossed her Doc Marten clad ankles, and for a second, Nick almost caught a glimpse of garter under her slinky little skirt.

"Such a heavy face for one so young," she noted as she handed him a beer. "This all too much for you, Nick?"

He flashed her a quick smile. "Never quite had an investigation like this before," he told her, peeling the label from his new bottle. "Say, did we ever figure out where that nuclear warhead key went?"

Sage thought for a minute. "I thought you said Amanda had it."

"That's right," Nick agreed. He spared a glance back at the thief. "She said she'd make it disappear. Maybe I ought to check with her about it."

Sage mulled the option over. "I got a better idea," she suggested. She set her drink on the table and uncrossed her legs slowly. Now he _did_ catch a glimpse of something lacy and forest green. "Do you dance?"

"To this?" he asked incredulously, waving a hand towards the nearest speaker, which was blaring some alternative rock song. He winced as he caught the mention of voodoo in the one lyric he did understand clearly.

"No, silly. To the next song."

Nick was surpassingly startled and flattered at the offer for a moment, then smiled ruefully. "I suppose I could do that."

Sage grinned. "Good. Shall we?"

Nick rose to his feet and took Sage's hand as the opening strands of the love song began. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that as soon as he'd started dancing with Sage, Amanda had coerced Mac onto the floor. Some part of him drew perverse pleasure at knowing that he'd succeeded at making Amanda jealous.

"Oh, that's not a good thing," Sage whispered, seeing Amanda and Mac together.

"It's only a dance," Nick replied. He tried to sound natural, but his voice was strained. "They're friends, right?"

"And more," Sage informed him, and he realized that Amanda wasn't jealous at him at all. In fact, they could have danced the Lambada naked on a Twister mat with the entire cast of Cirque d'Soleil and Amanda would have never noticed, she was so absorbed in MacLeod. One look at the Highlander, and Nick was fairly sure Kelly was the last thing on his mind.

He wasn't sure what the relationship was between Kelly and Mac, but he was sure that it had never been like what we was staring at now. He also knew that Kelly had shared more than a few heated glances with Methos over the course of the past two days, and probably longer. Perhaps what was good for the goose was good for the gander...

"Huh," she whispered in his ear, "looks like I might win a hundred bucks after all."

"You think Amanda's gonna leave with Mac?" Nick frowned. "I thought Mac was with Kelly."

"Come on, Nick," Sage smiled sweetly, "you think that ex-merc's got a chance against one of the oldest thieves in the world? Oh my, but you are a little optimist." She laid her cheek on his shoulder. "I bet you cried at the end of 'Old Yeller' too."

"Never saw it," Nick parried. "And why not? I'll match that hundred to say that she's got a shot."

"Deal." Sage pressed closer and sealed the bargain with a kiss, laughing at Nick's surprise.

* * *

It had been said that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. Kelly didn't know anything about the cooking aspect of that axiom, but the phrase seemed to be holding true at this second, as she watched Mac twirl Amanda out on the dance floor, - as if he had been doing it forever. Which, of course, he had.

She didn't know when she had seriously started to dislike Amanda, but she was fairly sure that dislike had turned to a tinge of hatred, embarrassment and resignation around the moment Amanda had kissed Duncan in the warehouse the previous night.

It shouldn't have bothered her, but it did. Kelly had known for a while that she and Duncan weren't working. It had nothing to do with Methos, or Amanda for that matter. It had everything to do with innate similarities and differences in all the wrong places, and nothing to do with extraneous forces at all, if she stopped to think about it. Kelly knew that the realization had hit her the previous evening, while she had waited for Duncan to return from his fight with San-Pierre, and later when she had watched Methos slam his weapon home into the Texan's body: As much as she loved Duncan, she also despised him a little.

Kelly slipped outside, thinking about the song that had just played in the jukebox and the look of pleasure on Duncan's face as he'd led Amanda around the small dance floor. Both had made her think of things she wasn't, things she tried to be and failed miserably, things she could never hope to be. Dawn was nearly in full swing now, but the air was still cold enough that her breath frosted as she breathed. The rush of adrenaline and anger that had fueled her through the long night and day was over, and she was beyond tired. The fatigue had settled into her bones, reminding her that unlike the majority of the bar's occupants, she wasn't going to live forever, and she had new scars to show for it. She shivered; she'd forgotten to grab her jacket as she left. Somehow, the crispness of the air felt right for the way she was feeling, and she sighed as the chorus of the song played through her mind.

There was a wonderful, romantic, female part of her that adored Duncan-the-lover, and a warrior part of her that not only dominated her but also loved Duncan-the fighter. She had thought that it would have been enough to compensate for Duncan-the-protector.

 _Or even Duncan-the-Immortal. Or Duncan-the-Moral,_ her voice of truth told her. And that was a little bit it. Kelly was not one to be overly critical for shortcomings she couldn't help, like being mortal. She was equally defensive of her ethics. She did what she did and she got paid. It was not bad to kill, when warranted. Mac seemed to be having problems with both of Kelly's seeming "flaws". And she had learned long ago that it was hard to love something one feared or hated so very much.

She heard the hiss of a lighter, and looked up to see Sher watching her with knowing eyes as she drew first drag on a new cigarette. "It's been a pretty wild couple of days, hasn't it?" Sher commented. She tucked the cigarette in her mouth and handed Kelly the jacket she'd left behind.

Kelly chuckled in spite of her dark mood, and slipped on the jacket. "That would be one way of putting it," she agreed. "If stranger things have happened, I wouldn't know about them." She studied the other woman a moment. "Funny how I've lived here all this time and this is the first time I've run into all of you."

Sher shrugged. "Stranger things have happened." She paused. "I make it habit to avoid a great many things. So, are you staying with Duncan tonight or you taking off with Methos?"

"I don't know," Kelly admitted, not entirely certain why she felt compelled to tell Sher the truth. Maybe it was the easy acceptance of Kelly's nature, maybe it was the sense Kelly had that Sher was a survivor like herself, or maybe it was the feeling that Sher wouldn't lie to her, at least, not now. "Is Amanda still here?"

Sher glanced inside the bar. "No, looks like she's taking off." She returned her attention to Kelly, who seemed to brighten with the news of Amanda's imminent departure. "Do you really think she won't be back some day? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, because it means I lose a bet, but I have to tell you..." Sher trailed off, not willing to finish.

There was a long moment of silence where Kelly watched as Sher took a drag of her cigarette. In return, Sher studied the younger woman a moment before she declared, "You aren't going to go with either of them, are you?"

Kelly knew whom she meant. "No," she admitted quietly, feeling her heart break as she did so.

Sher nodded, as if she wasn't surprised by Kelly's admission. "Better get a move on, then," she advised Kelly. "Mac will be looking for you in a minute, if he doesn't go with Amanda."

Kelly stared at her a moment, then zipped up her jacket and walked out into the night. Sher watched her go, sighing heavily. Then she finished her cigarette and went in to break the news to Mac.

* * *

Methos saw Caly staring blankly at the pinball machine, and strolled over. Like it or not, he was eventually going to find out what her reaction to the previous night's events had been, and he'd rather it be when he decided. Caly's hands were braced on the glass top of the machine, her legs spread almost shoulder-width apart. The metal ball was sitting patiently in the machine, waiting for her to pull the trigger and start the game again. Between her lips dangled the filter of a long burned out cigarette.

He plucked the filter from her mouth and she started. "Trying a new Jedi mind trick?" he said, keeping his voice purposely light to remind her that he was still her Bro. Caly blinked slowly and moved her hand to fiddle with the spring on the trigger.

"Just thinking," she said with a shrug, her free hand going to the pack of cigarettes on top of the machine and struggling to remove one.

With a sigh, Methos brushed her hand away from the pack, took out a cigarette and held it to her lips. "Open sesame."

Caly made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat and snatched the cigarette from his fingers, tossing it away. It landed on the pinball machine and she spun on her heel to face him. Her hunter green eyes were serious, sober, and a little annoyed.

"What?" She wrapped her arms around her middle and stared him down. "You didn't just come over here to make small talk," she continued when he remained silent.

He slipped a charming smile onto his lips and slouched. For good measure he tucked his hands into his front pockets. _Would it be too much if he looked down boyishly and shuffled his feet?_ Caly kicked him in the shin.

"Ow, damn it!" Methos took a few steps back and watched her with a wary eye. If she went into a full-blown fit of temper, he wanted to be out of reach of her flailing limbs.

"I'm not in the mood for games," she said bluntly. "You've avoided me like the freaking Bulgarian Plague all night and— "

"Bubonic," Methos corrected automatically. Caly lifted her fist, then suddenly she was looking over his shoulder and glaring. Methos automatically glanced back and saw Sage pulling her tongue in her mouth, trying to appear innocent.

"Go find Nick the Moral and do something amoral with that tongue, would ya?" Caly snapped at the Immortal woman.

Sage's eyes widened and she held her hands up, like there was a gun pointed at her. "Day-um!' she drawled and began backing away slowly. "Chill out, Tiny Tim, I'm a'goin'."

"Twenty bucks on Caly screeching like a boiled lobster and attacking him," Nick commented absently to Sage as he passed by with a tray of drinks, probably on his way to the table where the others were.

The black-haired Immortal snagged her glass from the tray and fell in step with him. "She had the greatest idea, Nicky."

Caly had started another game of pinball and was studiously ignoring him when he turned back again. Methos sighed and took hold of her shoulders, pulling her resisting form away from the machine and making her face him.

"Last night, what happened in the barn, I just." He broke off, trying to figure out how to ask her what she thought of it.

Caly's mouth dropped open in a show of blatant disbelief. "Is that what this fucking shit is about?" she shouted, and more than one person looked their way. "Pay attention to your own fucking lives, dipshits!" she yelled at them. "Maybe then you could get laid!"

"You know, Bro, sometimes you are such a putz," Caly informed him around the cigarette in her mouth. A tiny hand, nails painted with an unsightly orange glitter that probably glowed in the dark, tangled into her hair. Some of the glitter flaked off, attaching itself to her hair. "I never thought you were exactly as you appeared; I just accepted that what you appeared was all I knew at the moment.

How many of these moments was Caly going to have in the period of twenty-four hours?

He looked at his Pixie, his shameless, irreverent little Pixie, who shocked him at every turn. "How many quarters have you wasted so far? You've been playing for hours."

"Just one, actually," Caly said with a shrug. "I beat the high score an hour ago."

Methos burst into laughter and kissed her on the forehead.


	6. Epilogue

"So how are you gonna record this, Stalker Boy?" Caly wondered as she toyed with a straw. Nick reached over and took the plastic tube from her, earning a glare for his caution.

Roger glanced at Joe, who merely shrugged. "Not sure," Roger said finally. "I'm not a field operative, though these past few days have been-interesting and do bear recording."

"Interesting, my ass," Sher remarked, joining the conversation. "Interesting is a college course. This has just been fucked up."

"Oh, come on, Sher," Caly griped. "If he didn't think it was interesting, he wouldn't be a Stalker." In a lightning change of subject, Caly asked, "Where's Kelly?"

"She just left."

At this news, everyone looked around for Methos, Mac and Amanda. "Oh my, I do believe I won the final bet," Roger announced, seeing that Mac and Amanda were leaving and Methos had just returned from the restroom.

Sher swore under her breath. "No, I refuse to believe that— " Roger merely blinked twice. "Christ, what do I owe you, Watcher boy?"

The mortal man smiled. "Three hundred and fifty dollars, total," he said simply, folding his hands on the table and leaning back, as if he were discussing what to order.

Sher made a grunting noise. "Bullshit. How much do I owe you, not the whole group together."

Roger's smile widened. "Three hundred and fifty dollars."

Sher shook her head again. "Nuh-uh, no way. Prove it. There is no way. None." Caly swilled her beer and watched the two of them with wide, drunken eyes. Sage started to look afraid.

Roger produced a small leather-bound pad and flipped a few pages, then ripped out a sheet and slid it over to Sher. "See, I have it columned, by bet, amount and then, in totem." Then he sipped from his glass of whiskey.

Sher's hands fell to her sides, her shoulders slumped and her jaw dropped. "All that time," she growled, "I thought you were observing and recording, and you were tabulating our BETS?!" She stared at the paper as if she could incinerate it by glare alone.

"Observe and record," Roger offered feebly. "And it's not just yours— "

"WHAT?!" Sage screeched, slamming her hands on the table. Caly snickered.

"Yes," the Watcher continued, as Joe began to laugh. Methos returned from the bar with several beers. "I have ones for you," Roger slid a paper in front of Nick. "And you," then one for Sage. "And so, on."

When everyone at the table had a little slip, including Methos, and one was placed for the in absentia Amanda, silence reigned the room.

"Wait," Caly slurred, trying to sit up on her knees in the chair and only succeeding to catch her pant leg in the joint of the seat. She tugged and almost upended herself, had Methos not caught it in time. Her alcohol intake had increased dramatically once she'd deemed the Medieval pinball machine too easy, and beneath her.

The Pixie blew hair from her eyes and tried again. "Look, when did I lose fifteen bucks to Nicky here?" She stabbed the paper with her cigarette and singed it.

Roger looked up from his paper distractedly. "I believe it was at your place, when you bet five to three that, and I quote, "the limey would go postal." Caly choked on a swig of Kaluha and blinked. Roger smiled patronizingly. "Since I went neither insane, nor did I join the civil service, pay up."

Caly leaned over to her purse and snagged the giant pompom-looking bag from the edge of the chair with moderate success. Sher crumpled her paper in her hand, and Sage set hers on fire. Nick actually stood to pull his wallet out of his back pocket.

"Roger," Sher drawled, "a cold day in hell."

"Agreed," Sage muttered. "Nicky baby, put your money away."

Caly glanced up from examining the contents of her purse. "I have Skittles," she offered Nick.

"Only in the bag," he answered, not looking up from his own bill.

"Shit," Caly dove into the bag again. "What about three packages of Ry-Brot crackers and four shiny pennies?"

"Keep trying," was the crisp reply.

"Wait," Sage muttered, "what about Amanda and Kelly?"

Roger smirked. "Not that it's any of your business, but Amanda and I have worked out a reasonable payment plan."

Sher snorted and sat back in her chair. Joe and Methos eyed each other.

"Payment... plan...?" Methos questioned.

"Yes, she agreed to tell me all of the exploits left out of the Chronicles, especially the times in Greece when she— "

"Sucker." Joe and Methos gave each other a 'low five'. Roger looked confused, and Nick had no idea what they were talking about, but he was willing to bet that there was no way Amanda would be repaying that debt any time soon. _Wait no, no more betting..._

"And Kelly?" Sher prodded.

Roger managed to frown. "She broke even. Stranger things have happened I suppose, but..."

Sage stared at her 'bill'. "Well, fuck me."

"Sex is not a sufficient means of payment," Roger chirped. "Cash or barter only; no Canadian." He sipped the last of his drink and stretched his legs under the table.

"Roger, I am not paying," Sher told him bluntly, raising her eyebrows. "Nuh-uh."

"Fine. Might I remind you, however, being a sensible woman and all, of the photos I retain in my possess— "

"Fine! Fine!" Sher threw a roll of bills at the Watcher, who just smiled his thanks and pocketed the cash. She waved her hands and then growled. "Shithead."

"Wait— " Joe held up a hand. "What pictures?" He handed Roger the money he owed with much chagrin.

"I am afraid that I cannot divulge that information as it goes against my standards of confidentiality." He smiled kindly, friar-like.

Sher patted his head as she rose. "That is my boy. Beer for you." Roger gave a complacent little "good boy for mommy" grin, then Sher went in search of said beverages.

Methos waited until she had gone and was out of earshot over the jukebox, then threw a twenty at the young Watcher. "What photos?"

Roger slipped the bill into his shirt pocket without skipping a beat and began polishing his glasses. "Sher, sophomore year at the Academy, dressed as Princess Leia," he commented blithely, not really looking at anyone in particular, but his eyewear, which seemed _very_ interesting to him at the moment.

"So?" Sage grunted.

Roger was stoic as he replaced the glasses on his face. His eyes sparkled behind the light plastic. "That would be 'Return of the Jedi' Princess Leia."

Caly barked a laugh so loud Nick swatted her to shut her up, and Methos tossed Roger another twenty without comment. The second man hid it in his pocket with the other. "I'll FedEx them as soon as I get back."

"Hey," Caly slurred, swiveling to Nick. "Three pieces of gum," she dusted the bent and pitiful pieces off with very un-nimble fingers. "And a box of tampons?"

Nick choked on his water.

* * *

Duncan watched the lights go by as Amanda drove them home from the bar. The street was so very quiet, and he bet that if he looked up he would see a clear sky full of stars. Perhaps he and Amanda should go up to the roof and lay out on the tarmac, watching the celestial orbs turning.

Amanda squeezed his thigh, giving him that sly grin, almost catlike, and for a second, he forgot the past forty-eight hours. He might have even forgotten the past forty-eight years, if she had tried a little harder.

But nothing bad ever went away, he knew, by wishing. And nothing could really make him completely forget Kelly, no matter how hard Amanda tried. And the fact that she had left was not a surprise to him either. He hadn't done her justice, and now he was paying the price.

But there wasn't much sorrow there. He wasn't sure what it was, but he was sure that somewhere, he missed Kelly. She might have even missed him, but still, it was as if it was a natural end. Maybe not even an end, but some sort of bizarre pause in everything that stood between them. She would be back, and they would talk. Nothing could ever be the same, but that couldn't have been stopped even without this incident.

Amanda turned onto Cambie Street and tried to find a space. He leaned his head against the window. Too much beer. He'd had a little too much beer was all, and now he was feeling maudlin. But that was okay, because she was there to help him up the stairs to the dojo.

It had come to him earlier when he had been on his fifth beer of the night, that the people in the bar had saved his life. And it had hit him like some sort of wave, like a shock, because he was so used to being the rescuer. He was the one who risked life and limb, not they. And now...

When they had told him the story, Amanda's face had revealed that there had been more to the tale. There had been things that they had chosen not to tell him. How many had they killed for him? He was not a fool, so how many had Kelly alone killed? Or Methos? Or Sage?

Or perhaps that wasn't it. He had made an oath to get it out of Amanda, but now, as he stumbled into the lift, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know. All he knew now was that a group of friends, people whom Methos had once dubbed "the makeshift lost Clan MacLeod", had come for him in the depths of the night, hell in the depths of drunkenness. They had grouped, and regrouped, been shot, gone to jail, been imprisoned and even forced to listen to Caly's music just to save his ass.

He hiccuped in the lift and leaned into Amanda, his chest feeling tight. He knew that when they arrived upstairs, Kelly's clothes would be gone. Even the diving knife would be gone from its customary shelf in the shower stall. Hey, he needed a shower. Maybe Amanda would join him...

"Tell me, again," he drawled, "of how you managed t' get me up here, wi'ae yew."

Amanda smiled. "I drove. You were drunk. Now, we have to get you into bed, because you are sloshed, little MacLeod."

Duncan frowned. "Wait," he stopped, then started. "But I thought— "

Amanda raised her eyebrows and shoved hard on his chest. He fell backwards into the bed. It sank under his weight. Gods, that was nice. He closed his eyes and felt very heavy.

"Oh Duncan," he heard Amanda say lightly from far away. "You aren't free right now. Even though it seems as if your lover has flown the coop, I don't know for sure." He listened to her voice, spellbound at how it went up and down, and felt her take off his shoes and socks. Now they were getting somewhere.

"And the bet did not say that I had to sleep with you. It just said that I had to go home with you," Amanda concluded, unbelting his trousers and unbuttoning his shirt with separate hands. "I'm not even sure if you'd remember it in the morning, and I do try to be memorable."

He attempted to muster a response, but she was tired. Out of nowhere, he tried to make a mental note to thank everyone for saving him. Perhaps he could send fruit baskets: 'Thank you for saving me from a blood sucking voodoo monster; have a kumquat.'

"But I need the money, since Roger will try to kill me the next time he sees me. I'd like a plane ticket," she concluded, rolling him out of his shirt and sliding his trousers down. He tried not to laugh as she tickled him, but he did giggle, a little. _Damn her. Damn wool. Damn beer._ _Ah, yes, beer. You sound like Methos. Shit, what about Methos?_

He must have said something out loud, because Amanda snorted. "I don't hear that every day. Thank you though. I love being called a 'meathook'. Good night Duncan."

Duncan felt her slide the comforter up over his chest and sighed. Here she was. Was she leaving? No, she was just going to take off her clothes... and then she was... Damn, where was she?

He drifted off to sleep before the lift even made it to the top floor.

* * *

**Back at Joe's:**

Caly stared forlornly at her latest rejected offer to Nick: two nickels and a bag of rubber hair bands.

Nick sighed. "All right, that cleans me out," he declared as he stuck his considerably thinner wallet back into his pocket. Joe was betting that the ex-cop was glad he'd bunked with Sage and not taken a hotel room somewhere. For more reasons than one. "Remind me not to bet on anything when you guys are around. I have to get out of here before life gets any weirder."

"You headed back to the airport?" Methos joined them from the bar at the tail end of Nick's comment. He wiped his hands with a bar towel and tossed the rag on the table. Joe picked at it absently, watching the evening break up.

"Yeah," Nick answered, surprised. "I have a business in Paris to run, even if Amanda isn't inclined to be responsible for things like that." He retrieved his carry on bag from the corner that he had tossed it in earlier and examined it for spilled liquor. Almost completely unscathed. Not bad, Joe reasoned.

"You getting out of Dodge?" Joe asked knowingly.

Methos smiled, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Might be a good thing," he replied evasively. Now that Kelly was gone, Joe wasn't sure if Methos would stay, and this answered his question.

"Good for who?" Sher questioned. She crushed out her nth cigarette of the night by tossing it in Roger's drink when he wasn't looking. Methos shot her a glare and said nothing. She snickered and rose on fluid motion. "Come on, I'll give you a ride to the airport."

Methos seemed to consider this for a second, then nodded his assent. Joe wasn't sure what they had worked out between each other since last night, or if they had said anything about it at all. But with Nick in the truck, maybe they wouldn't bring it up. Hell, eternity was a long time not to discuss something like what the two of them had done. _Then again,_ he mused, watching Sher brush Methos's shoulder with a delicate hand as she passed him on her way to the bar, _Maybe not._

"I'd better get going myself," Roger stated apologetically. He sipped the last of his drink, not noticing the cigarette butt in it, much to Sher's interested delight. Caly hiccuped and drummed her fingers on the table. Joe knew that sign. She was bored, hungry, cranky and needed a big nap. _And drunk,_ he reminded himself, _Don't forget drunk._

"Will you drive Caly home?" Methos asked, as if he had read Joe's mind. Or followed his gaze, as it appeared he **had** done.

"I'm not drunk," Caly argued. She looked up with wild eyes, and tried to slam her fist on the table. The contents of her glass slammed down onto the table, over the rim and onto her hands and wrist, soaking her little chenille sleeve. At Joe's pointed stare at the glass, Caly sighed. "Oh, okay. So maybe I'm not legally sober."

"Take her home, Roger," Joe ordered, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "I'll talk to you in the morning."

The next few sounds were Sher and Caly whining and hugging and screaming "I love you man!" and "Wassup!" in loud voices. Nick and Sage had a 'private moment', and Methos shoved his hands in his pockets, slumping his shoulders. Caly tripped a record seventeen times on her way out the door until Methos promised to carry her to Roger's car. As the door shut behind them, the remaining drinkers in the bar heard Caly shot an offer of five diskette boxes and sixteen black eyeliner pencils to Nick, which was refused. Joe found himself resisting the urge to follow them to the door as he normally did. He just didn't have the energy.

Within a matter of minutes, the bar was empty of everyone except Sage and Joe, who stared at the trail of tipped-over chairs that Caly had, predictably, tripped over on her way out the door. "Guess it's just you and me, Joe," Sage remarked. She took off her leather wrist guards and tossed them on the table, reaching towards the stage to snag Joe's acoustic guitar.

"Guess so," Joe agreed. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed tiredly. "Man, what a night. Zombies." He looked across the table to his companion and offered her a worn smile. "Next you'll be telling me vampires exist."

Sage snorted and picked out a few cords. "Don't even go there, Joe. There are some things I don't want to know."

Joe chuckled ruefully. "Me neither, Sage. Me neither." He refilled his glass from the bottle of Sher's scotch on the table. She owed him anyway.

Sage picked the short tune to _The Twilight Zone._ "But you know, stranger things have happened...."

Joe groaned and got to his feet. Sage snickered and put the guitar back, rising. He shuffled to the door, and she followed. "The bar's closed. Good night, Sage."

Sage snagged her coat but didn't put it on. He let her open the door for herself. She was not a lady that way.

"Good night, Joe."

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. All songs referenced in this story belong to their respective copyright holders.
> 
> 2\. The fine art of voodoo is more than zombie raising, and that raising here was not portrayed accurately. This was done for entertainment purposes, and is in no way an accurate representation of either voodooiennes or houngans. Real zombies are a much more frightening concept.
> 
> 3\. Timeline note: This takes place one cold December, which is when we started writing it. As far as where it fits in with our stories:
> 
> For Kelly Pyron: after "One Faithful Heart" but before "What the Heart Wants"
> 
> Sage: after "Reluctant Trust" (which we're assuming happened before Methos met Sher, if only because D. posted it first)
> 
> Sher: after the MAD Arc
> 
> Caly: includes references to the Pixie Predicaments series up to "Ravens, Pixies and Wolves — Oh My!" and even a veiled reference to a Predicaments story that was never published. However, it does not actually fit fully into the Predicaments timeline (Caly will never find out that Adam is Methos, so there you go)
> 
> This is assumed to happen before Nick becomes Immortal. Since that pretty much throws the timeline of the combined stories out of whack, the end result is: any story which references the events in this story is a divergent timeline.
> 
> 4\. For those of you who weren't sure on that final bet Roger won (whom would Methos go home with?): Roger bet that Methos would go home alone.
> 
> 5\. If you're looking for any of idyll's HL fic involving Caly: sorry, it doesn't exist online anymore.


End file.
